What Happens on Corellia
by Citizenjess
Summary: A run-of-the-mill weekend excursion on the pleasure planet of Corellia results in consequences far more dire than Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi, and Ahsoka Tano anticipate when Obi-Wan ends up married to Asajj Ventress. Written with D. COMPLETE.
1. Chapter 1: When There's Nothing

Oh man, author's notes. I will try to be somewhat brief.

Basically, this is a "Star Wars", 'The Clone Wars'-era "crack" 'fic, loosely based off of the movie, "What Happens in Vegas". Feel free to hate on the film long and hard; it kind of deserves it. As a bit of an homage, chapter titles have been culled from Irene Cara's song, 'What a Feeling', from the movie "Flashdance", which features prominently in "Vegas". We are not Ashton Kutcher, nor are we George Lucas or Dave Filoni, etc., etc. By "we", I am referring to myself and patientalien, aka Diena Taylor, aka "D", my exceedingly patient wife and co-writer throughout this 6-8-month endeavor. Please see my profile for notes on this story's update process.

Summary: Summary: A run-of-the-mill weekend excursion on the pleasure planet of Corellia results in consequences far more dire than Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi, and Ahsoka Tano anticipate when Obi-Wan ends up married to Asajj Ventress. Chapter One: Corellia offers many enticements, and many dangers. Rated PG-13.

* * *

**What Happens on Corellia**

_Chapter One: When There's Nothing_

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* * *

_  
Looking back, Obi-Wan knew that he could lay the blame solely on Anakin. After all, Corellia had been his idea to begin with.

"It's right between us and Coruscant," his former Padawan pointed out, gesturing to the chart hovering above their heads. "We'd have enough time to unwind and refuel." He glanced down at his own apprentice, Ahsoka, waiting for her to back him up.

"Well," the girl said, somewhat hesitantly, "there are supposed to be some really interesting cultural sights..." She bit her lip absently, and Obi-Wan couldn't help thinking that this last mission must have made her realize that Anakin was probably not her best bet for living through the war. He liked Ahsoka, though - she made him tea and actually listened when he spoke, and seemed to be very dedicated to becoming a Jedi. He simply hoped Anakin didn't do anything to get her killed.

Anakin gave Ahsoka a funny look. "Cultural ... oh, like museums." He shuddered a little at the last word, as if it brought to mind something incredibly unsavory (which, of course, it probably did). "No, Snips, I was thinking of something a little more fun."

Ahsoka's face fell. "Your idea of fun and mine are two very different things sometimes, Master," she said warily. She waited for Master Kenobi, usually the voice of reason where Anakin was concerned, to agree with her, but he was strangely quiet. She sensed it was out of guilt. She was feeling perturbed enough to say something about it, but Anakin's gloved, robotic hand clamped suddenly down upon her shoulder, heavier than she'd have expected it to be.

"It's settled then," Anakin said with finality, and Ahsoka squirmed a little until he let her go. "We go to Corellia, juice up the ship, make a few repairs, and take the rest of the night off to lay low and relax. We've been going non-stop lately," he rationalized. "We deserve it." He began to plug the coordinates for Corellia into the ship's computer, and Ahsoka sighed. She had a bad feeling about this.  


* * *

  
Ahsoka's bad feeling only intensified when she realized their first stop was going to be a cantina, and that Master Kenobi seemed to be perfectly happy to follow Anakin up to the bar. Ahsoka trailed nervously, unsure she was even allowed in such an establishment. Her Master turned, a thoughtful look on his face (for once). "Uh, Snips," he said, digging around in his pocket and pulling out the keycard to the speeder they'd rented. "Why don't you go wait in the speeder."

Ahsoka couldn't help letting her mouth drop open in shock. "Wait, what?" she replied, probably with not enough due respect for her Master, but she didn't really care. Was he really telling her to wait outside for however long he and Obi-Wan were going to be?

Anakin seemed to be struggling not to roll his eyes, and kept backing towards the bar as he spoke to her. "This isn't a place for younglings," he said firmly, and Ahsoka felt a very-un-Jedi-like burst of anger flare up.

"So why are we here?" she demanded. "Why not do something we can ALL participate in?" She knew she was treading on thin ice - her Master's temper something barely held in check at the best of times - but it just didn't seem fair!

"Go see those cultural sights you want to see so badly," Anakin suggested with an annoyed sigh. "I'll comm you when we're done."

"But I don't even know how to pilot that speeder!" she exclaimed, although she knew she could probably figure it out without too much trouble. It was the principle of the thing, after all.

And besides, her Master could pilot it. Enough said, really. Ahsoka considered taking a page out of Anakin's book and spending the evening gallivanting around Corellia on her own agenda. She considered just taking the speeder and leaving the pleasure planet all together, letting her Master fend for himself - it'd serve him right, anyways.

In the end, Ahsoka pocketed the keycard, double-checked that her Master had remembered to turn the speeder's headlights off - he had, for once - and set off on foot in the opposite direction of Corellia's increasingly raucous night life. If the Force was willing, maybe she could still find a bookstore open at this hour.

* * *

  
The dark-cloaked figure fingered the vial and gave the scientist a chilly glare. "And you're sure this will work?" she asked, contempt dripping off every word. Asajj Ventress wasn't impressed with this latest plan of her Master's. Though she was not going to argue with him outright, she could give his scientist woman a hard time. In fact, she quite enjoyed doing so.

Jenna Zan Arbor rolled her eyes and ran a hand over her perfectly-coiffed hair. "Of course it will," she sneered. "What do you think I am, new? I've been messing with Jedi since before you were born."

Ventress couldn't help noticing that Zan Arbor likely HAD, given the crow's feet around her eyes and gray peeking through her dyed hair. "If it doesn't work, I will have your head," she promised with a cold glower. Zan Arbor didn't even flinch. That bugged Ventress.

But then, everything did. Life was cruel, and the people she interacted with meaningless and painfully mortal, no matter their rank or importance. Ventress' own reputation preceded her; her praises had been sung on her bloody home planet, which had in turn led to her alliance with Count Dooku and the Separatists.

Having made a trade out of being an assassin, Ventress had heard many a false claim, listened to tireless pleas for lives much more useless and frivolous than the ones she'd had taken from her. Mortals were weak, and Ventress hated weakness. Even Zan Arbor, her face carefully preserved, her body small but firm, gave off tell-tale signs of her mortality: her eyes were cold, yet wary with experience, and she seemed unable to keep completely still, her fingers constantly curling and uncurling, the heel of her expensive shoes tapping - Ventress was a warrior, not an aristocrat, but she knew wealth when she saw it.

The container was slender and cool to the touch. Ventress slid it into a tight pocket on her utility belt and watched Zan Arbor's retreating back. Annoying contacts or not, she did have a mission to complete.

She wasn't entirely sure what Count Dooku was hoping to accomplish by this, but she couldn't help feeling a morbid curiosity. Zan Arbor had promised wonders and though Ventress didn't know how the effects of the substance would help their cause, she had to admit a certain desire to see Kenobi and Skywalker completely humiliate themselves.

Then again, maybe that was the entire point. Dooku rarely clued her in to the intricacies of his plans, but she knew if she was patient, the answers would come, and with them her ascension to the Sith throne.

They were close, she could feel it. It wasn't the first time she'd been sent to wreak havoc for the Dream Team, and she vaguely resented her talents being wasted on tracking exercises that could have been handled by a droid, but her Master had been insistent. Of all the ways the Republic could be devastated, loss of morale was sneaky subterfuge. Kenobi and Skywalker didn't control shipping routes, and neither of them was going to negotiate any foreseeable peace between their side and the Separatists, but their antics put a face to the war, made people feel as if what they were enduring had a greater purpose.

Also, for whatever reason, Dooku's Master had a particular hard-on for Skywalker. She didn't see the fascination; the kid was fucked up, and even a youngling could have sensed his potential power in the Force, but mental instability and a little raw energy did not a Sith make. Their kind - her kind - were cunning, fierce, dedicated to the Dark Arts, and willing to sacrifice, to give themselves over to-

A sudden flash of familiarity washed over Ventress, bringing her back into the present. Not Skywalker or that damnable Kenobi, to be sure, but ... something. Moving languidly along the wall of the alleyway, she peered out into the drifting night time crowds of downtown Corellia, in-tuned to Force signatures and anything else that might be remotely extraordinary.

Ventress' skin prickled as her focus swept across a non-descript patch of night life. It - something, someone - was there, right - there! She zeroed in on the cause of the disturbance, a slight Togruta girl. Her own demeanor was nervous, her hackles raised, and at once, Ventress knew she was onto something.

The Force hummed around the child, and she remembered - the Togruta she'd fought, however briefly, on Teth. Of course - Skywalker's new Padawan. Though she seriously questioned the wisdom of the decision to give a loose cannon like Skywalker an apprentice, she had to admit, it was a gift from the Force. If the Togruta was here, that meant Skywalker wasn't far off. Which meant Kenobi was lurking around somewhere as well. Ventress couldn't have hoped for a better outcome.

She brushed her fingers against the pouch containing the vial and allowed herself a small smile. She would have her revenge, and soon.  


* * *

  
Ahsoka felt the disturbance in the Force through her head-tails before it registered with the rest of her body. She tensed, but kept walking, not wanting to call attention to herself, not wanting to react before she had a better idea of what she was dealing with. It was uncomfortable, that feeling of being watched - of being *stalked*. Ahsoka struggled to keep from touching her lightsaber and thought about her options.

It could be nothing, she told herself. A fluke, the feeling of nervousness that came from being alone on an unfamiliar planet. But she wasn't alone - her Master was around somewhere, and she rarely felt fear when she was by herself in a city. She could, after all, take care of herself. But something cold and dark was behind her, and she wasn't sure it was something she wanted to face all by herself, not when it was her Master's job to protect her.

Darting into an alleyway, she took a moment to find her center. It was simple, really. Retrace her steps and find Anakin and Obi-Wan, tell them she was being followed. Let the Masters take care of things, she told herself. Don't make a stupid Padawan mistake and get yourself hurt. Even if her Master laughed at her for being scared, it was better than the alternative.

Ahsoka squared her shoulders and continued walking at a brisk pace. The keycard for the rented speeder jangled in her pocket, the noise making her even jumpier. She tried to appear calm, like she was loping along with the rest of the patrons, looking for a good time. She could feel something leering at her in the Force, drawing her out, smug and satisfied that it was keying her up so badly.

She rounded the last block for the small tavern that her Master had disappeared into last. Hoping he'd stayed put, she slipped inside with a couple of other patrons, willing herself to become absorbed into the background. She looked even younger than she was, she knew. She didn't want to cause a scene.

Ahsoka breathed an audible sigh of relief when she spotted Anakin, leaning casually against the main bar and straddling a backless stool as he chatted up Obi-Wan. Ahsoka couldn't help but notice the number of lingering stares the pair was getting - there would be no chance of undercover work when headlines boasting the achievements of 'Team Kenobi-Skywalker' kept the Holonet buzzing. Also, Ahsoka thought with a small grin, her Master was pretty, and Master Kenobi wasn't exactly a gundark.

A gruff hand on her shoulder made her flail a little. "What do we have here, eh?" a Toydarian smirked, his wings beating steadily. Something about his smarmy demeanor and the fact that she was already being followed made Ahsoka more uneasy than she'd normally be. She tried to duck underneath his grip, but the blue-ish creature was stronger than he looked. "Relax, little one, I not going to hurt you, eh. You're a pretty one, you know, yes?"

"Um," Ahsoka grimaced, wondering how much being inconspicuous was worth if it was going to get her abducted, or worse. "That, that's very, uh, nice of you, but-"

"But she's not interested, so why don't you buzz off." Her Master's voice was surprisingly clear, considering he'd probably put a considerable amount of alcohol away at this juncture, and Ahsoka had never been gladder to hear it.

"Ah, she's yours," the Toydarian said as he turned, hand still on Ahsoka's shoulder, and Ahsoka bit back a grin as her Master casually moved his cloak aside to reveal his lightsaber. He could be very intimidating when he wanted to be, tall and broad-shouldered as he was. She liked seeing him do things like this - he was always so blasé about it, but there was an intensity in his eyes now that Ahsoka wasn't sure the source of. It was the same kind of dark shadow that had crossed his features on Tatooine, and it thrilled and frightened her.

"She's not. Interested," Anakin repeated firmly, resting his gloved hand on the hilt of his lightsaber. "Find someone else." The Toydarian seemed to realize that Anakin was capable of chopping his wings off where he hovered, and released his grip on Ahsoka, muttering an apology and fluttering away. Anakin turned his attention to Ahsoka, a bemused expression replacing the intense one. "So, Snips," he said, "your cultural sights get boring or what?"

Ahsoka felt a burst of annoyance, but then remembered the reason she'd come back. "Master, there's something out there," she said, trying not to sound like a scared youngling. "Something was following me."

Anakin barked out a laugh and gestured for her to follow him back to the bar. "Of course you were being followed," he replied, as if it should have been as clear as day to her. "That's why I said to wait *in the speeder*."

The young Togruta exhaled sharply. Of course he wasn't going to take her seriously. She wasn't sure why she'd expected he would. But she already felt safer within the confines of the tavern, being flanked by the two most famous Jedi in the Order. Surely she could stand some ribbing if it meant she didn't have to go back out there and face that cold sensation of Force-disturbance. "Well, it was a stupid suggestion, Master," she informed him, trying to force herself into calm. "Just like most of your suggestions."

Anakin glanced back at her sharply, but instead addressed his next words to Obi-Wan. "Let's go somewhere else. I don't want Ahsoka getting fondled by any more filthy Toydarians."

Obi-Wan's mouth quirked in the corners, as if his mind had half-formed a suitable joke to match Anakin's sentiment, but didn't want to risk ruining his buzz by thinking it through completely. He stroked his beard a couple of times at the abrupt change in Anakin's demeanor, then glanced down at Ahsoka. "What is the matter?" he asked her.

Ahsoka took a steadying breath. "I'm being followed," she said in a hushed tone, leaning into Obi-Wan, the smell of alcohol lingering, though not entirely unpleasant. "Just a few blocks away. I don't know who it is, or what, but ... it's Dark," she shivered.

Obi-Wan glanced back up at Anakin, who was tapping his foot impatiently. "It's Corellia," he said, rolling his eyes. "And you, Snips, are paranoid." He glanced around, and Ahsoka couldn't help thinking that SHE wasn't the paranoid one. "Let's just go."

Standing, Obi-Wan pulled on his cloak. "I suppose we could go elsewhere," he conceded. "And perhaps we'll be able to sense the disturbance Ahsoka is speaking of." He gave her a small smile, and Ahsoka bit back the urge to stick her tongue out at her own Master.

"Can't we just go back to the ship?" Ahsoka asked. She didn't want to be dragged to another crowded tavern to perhaps be groped by another being again. Besides, she was getting tired, and the thought of the dark energy outside made her more so.

Anakin let out a sharp breath. "Not a chance," he replied before Obi-Wan had an opportunity. "We earned this leave, and we're not going to go hide just because you have a bad feeling. Just stick with us, and you'll be safe." With that, he turned on his heel and strode towards the exit, Obi-Wan close behind. Annoyed at the implication that she was about to be left behind, yet privately secure in the knowledge that she was safe in Anakin's care, Ahsoka scurried after the pair, glaring at her Master for good measure as she rounded the rented speeder towards the passenger's side.

Anakin looked amused. "What do you think you're doing?"

Ahsoka stared at him. "What?" she asked crisply, in no mood for guessing games.

Anakin just snorted. "Let's review: We're on leave, Obi-Wan has already put away his weight in booze -" as if on cue, Obi-Wan burped, "- and I plan to catch up." He brushed past Ahsoka to hunker down in the seat she'd planned to occupy. "Guess who the designated driver is in this scenario."

Ahsoka sighed. Being Anakin Skywalker's Padawan really sucked, sometimes.  


* * *

  
Tracking the girl had been ridiculously easy, Ventress mused as she watched Skywalker, Kenobi, and the Togruta climb into an ugly speeder outside a run-down tavern. She was not well-shielded, and she had been frightened.

Of course, she had to have been, to go running to her Master so easily. It didn't look like Skywalker and Kenobi were particularly on alert, though, and Ventress couldn't help think that the duo was going to make her job much easier than she'd initially expected.

It wasn't difficult to track the speeder through the crowded streets. The traffic was moving at barely a crawl through the throngs of pedestrians, and Ventress found she could be at a respectable distance without losing sight of her quarry. She sensed an overwhelming lack of urgency in both Kenobi and Skywalker, which made her think this was exactly the time to catch them both off-guard.

Skywalker's Padawan seemed to be in charge of navigation. Her driving was wobbly and clumsy, and Ventress itched to simply take them all out in one fell swoop. The part of her that enjoyed making the Jedi suffer warred with the much larger portion that just wanted it all over, enemies slain and revenge achieved. It was only the lure of Dooku's promises of power that stayed her hand.

The speeder eventually pulled into the parking structure of a nightclub, much larger and flashier than Kenobi and Skywalker's previous destination. Ventress watched as Anakin ambled around the vehicle, tussling the Togruta's head-tails. He was grinning, but she looked perturbed, while Kenobi looked as if a sudden breeze could blow him over. Ventress snorted to herself - there was nothing in the Jedi code against excessive consumption of alcohol, and it showed. Kenobi was such a kriffing lush.

She supposed she should thank him for making her mission that much easier, but she couldn't help rolling her eyes. THESE were the heroes of the Republic. How pathetic. If the public knew the truth... But then, she supposed, that was the whole point of her Master's plan.

The girl was protesting, an unhappy expression on her face, as Skywalker manhandled her towards the club's entrance. Ventress watched in bemused irritation as the young Jedi used a mind-trick to get them past the Gammorrean bouncer - how completely tacky. Of course, in order to keep them in her line of sight, she would have to do the same thing - but at least *she* was subtle about it.

The burly Gammorrean winked at her as she approached the entrance, putting a good five minutes between her own arrival and Kenobi and Skywalker's. "Nice hair," he leered, and Ventress fought the urge to bare her teeth. A couple of Force-enhanced suggestions later, and the bouncer had wandered off. Ventress scowled as she was elbowed by a couple of underage-looking patrons who were excited to take advantage of the new lack of security. She truly detested, well, everyone, really.

She kept her hood raised, borne more from not wanting to be immediately spotted than by either of her targets than anything else. Skulking towards the bar, Ventress chose a corner seat at an uninviting angle, hoping her fellow patrons would take the hint and leave her alone. The area was relatively crowded, but Kenobi was easy enough to spot, making small talk with the bartender, but otherwise keeping to himself.

Skywalker and the kid weren't immediately visible; Ventress reached out with the Force, however, and sensed them nearby. That was just fine with her - she could take them out together or separately. It didn't matter which, so long as she got them both.  


* * *

  
Ahsoka watched, irritated as her Master made a nuisance of himself. Upon entering the nightclub - which she was certain she'd have been restricted from, had the bouncer not been so easily persuaded to let them in, for free, even, by Anakin - Obi-Wan had made a beeline for the bar, and Anakin had just grinned at her as she crossed her arms, pouting. "Why don'tcha take your cloak off and stay a while, Snips," he'd suggested, and then laughed as if it were the funniest thing in the galaxy.

Now he was in the middle of the dance floor, writhing sinuously with creatures of both genders in vague time to the ear-splitting music permeating the very walls of the room. Ahsoka sighed. She couldn't pick up clearly on any Dark forces with all the noise and activity anymore, but it was still out there, she was sure of it, and Anakin's drunken ineffectiveness did nothing to waylay her concerns - paranoia, her Master had sneered. She was seriously beginning to doubt the wisdom of not just driving them back to the ship when she'd had the chance.

"Master!" she exclaimed, pushing her way through the crowd. She just wanted to leave, just wanted to gather up whatever dignity her Master retained and get out of there. She didn't feel safe anymore, just claustrophobic and annoyed.

Anakin had (finally, she thought) taken a break from dancing and was leaning against a pillar, a noxious-looking drink in his hand, surrounded by a handful of beings. "Yeah," he was saying as she approached. "I mean, I... I save people. It's... It's kind of my thing. What I do. I'm a Jedi, you know." The admission seemed to impress his audience, and Ahsoka huffed and shoved her way forward.

"He has herpes," she said, loud enough to be heard over the pounding bass of the sound system. "Bad herpes."

There was a murmur through the crowd, and Anakin's glazed eyes flashed. "Oh, very funny, Snips," he snarled. "You'll all haveta excuse her. She's... We don't let her outta the Temple much. She's got, you know, mental issues."

Ahsoka squeaked indignantly. "Right, I'M the one with mental problems," she snapped. "I'm his daughter, actually," she told the woman standing closest to Anakin. "He doesn't pay child support. My mother has to whore herself out to support us."

"That's where I got the herpes," Anakin snarked back, and Ahsoka laughed.

"Oh, so you're admitting it!" she exclaimed.

Anakin pursed his lips in confusion. "I-no, I mean, I..." But by that time, the group had dispersed.

He frowned at Ahsoka. "What the kriff," he griped as she glared back. "I was just havin' a little fun. What do you have against fun?"

"I don't," Ahsoka retorted, finding it strange that she was defending NOT acting like a blithering idiot to someone who was supposed to have authority over her. "But I think you've had enough."

Anakin took a swig of his drink. "There's never enough party," he rasped, just as one of the slim, purple-skinned males he'd been grinding against a moment ago fell to his knees on the high-polished floor, retching repeatedly. Nearby club patrons squealed and exclaimed disgustedly, and the dance area thinned out somewhat.

"Okay," Anakin conceded, as if Ahsoka had personally instigated the event to prove her point. "Maybe there was too much party for him. But I'm a Jedi," he boasted again, unnecessarily. "I'm ... better than that."

"Uh-huh," Ahsoka said flatly, unconvinced. She looked around, defeated. Obviously, she wasn't going to be getting anywhere with Anakin, and she doubted Obi-Wan was going to take her side either.

"Lissen," Anakin slurred, putting a hand on her shoulder in what she was pretty sure was an effort to steady himself, "why don't you, I dunno, find some nice Togruta boy to dance with for a while."

Ahsoka whirled, pulling herself out of his grasp. "I doubt there are any *nice boys* here, Master," she snapped. "A point you've proven quite nicely, thank you." He blinked at her, and she crossed her arms over her chest. "You're supposed to be the adult here, Sky Guy," she reminded him.

Anakin snorted into his glass. "Oh, right," he laughed. "Like I need a lecture from my... From a youngling. Even Obi-Wan's havin' fun - why can't you?"

Ahsoka looked askance towards the dimly lit bar. "Not a youngling," she muttered under her breath, though she realized the futility of arguing with her Master when he was this drunk. At his best, Anakin was ridiculously obtuse.

Through the haze, Anakin seemed to sense her deep displeasure. "C'mon, you like to have fun, Snips," he said, and Ahsoka looked up hopefully. "You, you're cool, and smart, and ... You're orange!" Anakin proclaimed. Ahsoka shook her head wordlessly. "Orange people are just, they're just cool," her Master affirmed, then flicked his fingers at her clumsily. "So go be cool."

Ahsoka resisted the urge to pout, realizing that she was, indeed, going to have to be the adult here. A cold chill ran down her spine, and she glanced around, seeing nothing but amassed dancers. "I don't need to make a fool out of myself to have fun," she finally said, pushing Anakin's hand off her head-tail.

"Well, wh-what's the fun in that?" Anakin replied, reeling back from her. "Go 'way, Snips." And with that, he swaggered back into the crowd.

Ahsoka was really beginning to think that 'hate' shouldn't be forbidden by the Code.  


* * *

  
Ventress was disgusted. She usually was, of course, but her revulsion in this setting was amplified by the hundreds of beings writhing and grinding and completely giving over control. She did not like it. She needed control, needed a firm grip on things. It was the way of the Sith, to control, to dominate.

Kenobi was easy to track - he remained planted on a barstool, far away from anyone, seeming to radiate his need to drink alone through the Force. Skywalker kept flitting through the crowd, but every time she saw him he was a little more disheveled. The youngling was inconsequential at this point, so while Ventress kept a slight eye out for her, the focus was on the two "heroes".

Kenobi was most easily attainable at this point. Ventress signaled a bar droid, refusing its offer of a drink menu. "That man," she said, pointing at the back of Obi-Wan's head. "What is that he's drinking?"

"It's the house special, ma'am," the droid answered, its voice tinny.

"Bring me one," Ventress ordered. The droid wheeled itself away, returning a few minutes later with a medium-sized glass. The concoction was pale and non-fizzy, but she could tell it was strong. All the better. Reaching into her utility belt, Ventress tugged out Zan Arbor's vial, tapping a few droplets into the glass. The addition was odorless and tasteless, Zan Arbor had assured. She signaled the serving droid again.

"My mistake. I meant to order this for that man," she indicated, sliding the glass along the table, leaving a thin line of condensation.

The droid took it. "Ah, a secret admirer?" it asked.

Ventress gritted her teeth. "Something like that," she agreed, fighting the urge to retch. She watched as the bar 'droid presented Kenobi with the drink with a nod in her direction. She made sure her hood was obscuring her face and waggled her fingers at the Jedi, grimacing. Obi-Wan lifted the glass in a slight salute, and took a drink.

Ventress allowed herself a smirk. One down, one to go. Now where had Skywalker wandered off to?  


* * *

  
Anakin was having fun. Even though Ahsoka kept finding him and pestering him about stupid stuff (where had she gone, anyway?), he was having fun. He didn't get to have fun very often, with the war and having a Padawan and all, and it was even more rare that he was able to have fun in the same place as Obi-Wan.

Having finished his drink (what had that been called? It had been delicious, anyway), Anakin decided to touch base with his Master and order a new one at the same time. Planning - he was good at coming up with plans. Sometimes, anyway.

Well, maybe not all the time, but that was what Obi-Wan was for. And speaking of Obi-Wan, his Master was looking awfully delectable, sitting all alone, pretending he didn't know half the club was watching him (the other half, Anakin knew, were watching the Chosen One show).

"Heeey Master," he called, sidling up to Obi-Wan and setting his empty glass on the bar. Obi-Wan's own glass was half-full, and looked like it was yummy, so Anakin commandeered it for himself. After all, they were Partners. They shared everything. Or not. He reached for the other glass sitting in front of his Master, but Obi-Wan slid it away and frowned at him.

"Mine," he glowered, giving Anakin the Look he'd become very accustomed to seeing as a Padawan. "Get your own."

"Don't be greedy, Master," Anakin whined, making another fumbling swipe at the glass. "It's not the Jedi way." He began to pick it up, but Obi-Wan plucked it out of his hand, taking a sip. "Not fair," Anakin pouted.

Obi-Wan just smirked. "It's perfectly fair when someone buys it for you," he boasted.

"What?" Anakin's eyes were bleary. "Who?"

"Someone, I'm not sure," Obi-Wan responded, pausing as if it were taking him longer than usual to process Anakin's words. "An ... admirer."

"Who?" Anakin said again, suddenly on alert, despite his inebriated state.

He looked around, trying to find someone who was paying closer attention than most to his Master, unsure if he sensed danger or... something else. What was that feeling? That weird, niggling, suspicious heaviness?

"I... I do not know, Anakin," Obi-Wan replied, taking the time to enunciate carefully. "Sitting... down there." He flung his arm across Anakin's chest towards a shadowed area of the bar. "Why do you - why do you care, anyway?"

Anakin furrowed his brow. Something was wrong, he knew, but he couldn't quite put the pieces together. They flew around each other - Ahsoka had sensed a disturbance, there was something odd in the Force, but they weren't settling into a coherent picture of the situation. Maybe if he had another drink, he'd be able to make sense of it all. Something in the back of his head told him that his logic was somewhat faulty, but as usual, he ignored that little voice that was beginning to sound annoyingly like Ahsoka. "Master," it screeched at him disapprovingly, complete with head-tails bobbing, and - wait. When did his inner-monologue have head-tails?

"Master," Ahsoka said, and suddenly she was standing almost nearly underfoot, still very screechy and annoying and *loud*. "Master!"

"For kriff's sake, Snips!" Anakin yelled back, scowling. "What is it now? Is something following you again, huh? Is someone going to sneak up behind you and go 'Boo!'?"

"It's Ventress," Ahsoka said hurriedly, tired of playing games. "Ventress is here!"

"Where?" Anakin asked, eyebrow quirked.

"Right here," a cloaked figure said, and suddenly she was upon them.

Obi-Wan merely blinked slightly, and Anakin stumbled backwards, trying to figure out where, exactly, he'd put his lightsaber. Then the dots connected in his brain, and he began to laugh. *Ventress* had been the one to buy Obi-Wan that drink. For some reason, the thought was particularly hilarious and even though he was pretty sure she was going to kill all of them, he couldn't stop laughing.

"*Master*!" Ahsoka exclaimed, igniting her own lightsaber amidst the protests of the bartender and surrounding patrons. To Anakin's mild surprise, Ventress didn't respond in kind, merely held up a vial of something that looked like it probably tasted good. Where was that stupid serving 'droid anyway? Wait, first thing's first. Ventress. Who had a crush on his Master, apparently. Funny stuff, that.

"Not to worry, little one," Ventress informed Ahsoka coolly.

Ahsoka squared her shoulders, lowered her 'saber, and suddenly she was all motion, kicking high into Ventress' chest. The wannabe-Sith crashed backwards into Obi-Wan, the vial springing from her hands and landing with a crunch and a splatter on the floor, the liquid splashing up against Ventress' legs.

Anakin felt firm hands on his shoulders and somebody barked out an order for the Jedi and their antagonist to get the kriff out.


	2. Chapter 2: A Slow, Glowing Dream

Summary: A run-of-the-mill weekend excursion on the pleasure planet of Corellia results in consequences far more dire than Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi, and Ahsoka Tano anticipate when Obi-Wan ends up married to Asajj Ventress. Chapter Two: With Obi-Wan blissed out, and her Master incapacitated in his own way, Ahsoka takes matters into her own hands.

* * *

**What Happens on Corellia**

_Chapter Two - A Slow, Glowing Dream_

* * *

"It's very dangerous," Zan Arbor had told her, dangling the vial in front of Ventress. The assassin grasped it between two long, pointed fingernails before snatching it up - a less dexterous person would have fumbled it - and Zan Arbor narrowed her eyes. "It's also experimental, very hard to come by. That means you need to do it right the first time."

"Look, you keep making your pretty potions, and I'll do the real work," Ventress told her, matching the older woman's haughtiness with a sneer. She held it at eye-level. "Do I get them to drink it or what?"

"You can," Zan Arbor replied. "But it works just as well absorbed into the skin. I wouldn't go using it for perfume." She eyed Ventress briefly. "I mean, not that you would."

Ventress ignored the barb - never mind, Zan Arbor could have been her grandmother twice over. "What's it do?" she asked.

Zan Arbor smiled in self-satisfaction. "It's... well, it's *complicated*," she replied condescendingly, and Ventress glared. Her forte might be violence, but she was not stupid. "It's a mind-control device. In the most basic terms, the substance reacts to itself. When two or more people are exposed, it will create an attraction, almost an aphrodisiac." The scientist seemed terribly pleased with herself. "It lowers inhibitions, makes the subject completely attached to any other beings with the substance in their systems."

Ventress couldn't help thinking that they didn't need a drug to make Kenobi and Skywalker inordinately attached to each other, but, she supposed, with the added benefit of loss of inhibitions, it meant that they would be able to break through their Jedi restraint (or what little restraint Skywalker possessed). It meant there would be flagrant Code-breaking, and quite possibly public humiliation for The Team. It was brilliant in its stupidity, really. The Jedi would be so busy with PR that it would leave the doors wide open for the next phase of her Master's plan.

* * *

Ventress scowled deeply, Zan Arbor's warning echoing through her head. The group had been ushered out the doors and into the street, and she flung herself at the Togruta, growling. The little brat had seriously jeopardized her mission! If she got near Kenobi... but she could sense Kenobi behind her, approaching quickly, if unsteadily.

Skywalker flanked them both, giggling like an idiot. The girl still had her lightsaber out, but Ventress was no longer concerned with her. She turned to face Kenobi, who was looking at her with bleary interest. "Hello there," he said with a quirked smile.

"Way t'go, Snips," she distantly heard Skywalker grouse. "Now we gotta go somewhere else."

It seemed, Ventress suddenly realized as Kenobi took her arm, like a good idea. Touching him, that was. At first, it seemed right because she was pretty sure she wanted to rip him limb from limb with her bare hands, and you had to touch someone to do that, but then Ventress realized that Kenobi's fingers were soft and warm, gentle yet unerringly masculine, and suddenly, his touching her seemed to serve another purpose altogether.

"Oh, my," Obi-Wan breathed as their mouths connected. Ventress' hands scrabbled for purchase against the folds of Obi-Wan's robes, his hair, the sides of his face. She couldn't seem to get *close* enough to him, and it frustrated her.

A shudder went through him as her nails clawed his face in her haste to pull him to her, not unwilling, but dazed by these latest developments. "Stop ... moving," Ventress muttered. "Too ... far." To her left, she could hear Skywalker's charge making horrified squeaks, but paid them no mind. She had to have this. She knew, somewhere in the back of her mind, that it was merely the drug doing what it was designed to do, but it didn't seem to matter. Not to her, and certainly not to Kenobi, who had wrapped his arms around her waist tightly enough to knock the wind out of her.

"Maaaasssssttteeer," Skywalker was whining, and she felt him bump against her shoulder. She shoved him backwards with the Force, not wanting to risk taking her hands off Kenobi for a moment.

"Hmmm," Kenobi moaned into her mouth. "Ahsoka," Kenobi commanded, swiveling his head just enough so that he wasn't speaking directly to Ventress' tonsils, "pull.... ungh.... pull the speeder... around." The youngling began squeaking anew.

"This is *gross*," Ahsoka stage-whispered to Anakin, watching Master Kenobi and his would-be-assassin dry-hump against a light post. She waited for Anakin to agree with her, but when she glanced up, his face was plastered with a goofy, dreamy grin. "M-Master?" she asked tentatively.

Anakin clasped his hands across his chest. "Love is so ... beautiful," he sighed. Ahsoka resisted the urge to kick him in the head. And then she realized that it probably wouldn't do any more considerable damage than what was already there.

"This must have to do with whatever spilled on Ventress," Ahsoka deduced aloud. She peered at Anakin more closely. "Did you drink anything of Obi-Wan's?"

Anakin nodded absently, his eyes still on the show before them, on Ventress fumbling with his Master's tunic. 'That's a good idea,' Anakin's sun-dragon murmured to him.

"What the kriff are you doing?!" Ahsoka screamed as Anakin's outermost shirt landed on her head.

Anakin looked down at her, swaying slightly. "My dragon tol' me to," he said, quite matter-of-factly as he slid out of his inner tunic and let it drop to the ground.

Ahsoka was fairly sure this sort of thing wasn't covered in any training course. "Your... what?" she asked, quickly realizing that she was quite possibly the only sane one left.

Anakin blinked at her. "You... you know, your sun dragon," he said, as if she *should* know. "The... it... it tells you to do stuff."

Ahsoka frowned slightly, trying to ignore the animalistic noises coming from Obi-Wan and Ventress' direction. "You mean your *conscience*, Master?" she prompted.

"My what?" Anakin asked, running a hand over his bare chest. "No, no, tha... that is not. Not what I meant at all."

Ahsoka was in no mood to discuss technical definitions of conscience versus auditory hallucination. She had begun to put together the pieces of what had happened, and though she still wasn't sure *why*, she knew that this was Bad. "Master, we *have* to do something!"

He blinked blearily. "Oh... yes..." For a brief moment, Ahsoka thought her Master was going to be able to break through the fog and be helpful. "Snips. Snip, snip, Snips ..." He made a cutting motion with his fingers, pinching the end of one of her head-tails, and then dissolved into quiet, drunken laughter.

So much for that.

The group eventually piled into the speeder, Ventress practically straddling Obi-Wan in the backseat, and Anakin slinking into the passenger side next to Ahsoka. "You don't know where we're goin'," Anakin slurred in Ahsoka's ear as she grabbed up the keycard from her utility belt. Ahsoka blanched as his hot breath hit her cheek.

"Ugh. I'm driving back to Coruscant," Ahsoka announced, shoving the key into the slot with more force than necessary. "You and Master Kenobi have a date with the Healers, and I think everyone here's had enough excitement for one night."

Anakin eyed her, obviously trying to get his eyes to focus for more than three seconds. "You ... you're ... you're so *orange*," he breathed as she pulled onto the busy thoroughfare. "You look like ... you ... you look like a popsicle." Before she could stop him, his tongue darted out and raked up her cheek. She swerved, much to the loud complaints of the passengers in the back.

"Master!" she screeched. "Keep your tongue to yourself!" She was certain she was going to be repressing memories of this trip for years to come, at this rate.

"Oh yes, An...akin," Obi-Wan added from where he was buried between Ventress' breasts. "Do ... do keep everything ... where it should be ..."

Anakin ran a hand across his bare stomach. "You don't *taste* like a popsicle," he complained. "Fal...false advertising, Snipper."

Ahsoka swiped at her face with the back of her hand disgustedly. "I never claimed I was a popsicle!" she exclaimed. Her Master was about as useful as a youngling, and to make matters worse, there was a deadly assassin catching a ride back to the Temple with them ... a deadly assassin who was currently ... oh. OH. "Master Kenobi!" she screeched. "That, that's not appropriate!" she sputtered.

Anakin swiveled his head to assess the situation. "Awww, don't use your teeth!" he crowed. "Obi-Wan *hates* that." Ventress raised her head from its position near Obi-Wan's nether regions, eyes and teeth gleaming as she grinned.

"No promises."

"Can we have some remote level of decorum befitting a Jedi?!" Ahsoka yelled. The speeder interior grew quiet, almost contemplative. Anakin burped, covering his mouth to muffle the sound. 'Well, good,' Ahsoka thought. Maybe the rest of this strange experience was going to be muja-pie. All she had to do was get everyone back to Coruscant in one piece and-

"You forget, little girl," Ventress' sudden prompting interrupted her reverie and dashed her optimism at the same time. "You forget that I'm not a Jedi."

"That's right," Anakin said, nodding excessively. "She's not a Jedi. She's a ... she's a bad guy."

His declaration was marred slightly by a wet hiccup, but he turned to glare at the offending woman anyway.

"Oh, Anakin," Obi-Wan sighed, then moaned as Ventress ran her hands down his chest. "Do... do not be so quick to judge. She's not, she isn't so... I *like* her..." The Jedi Master wrapped his arms around Ventress and pulled her closer. Ahsoka fought the urge to vomit. "I... I never want to be apart from her." His tone was hushed, reverent, even.

Anakin looked mutinous. "Well... well... why don't you jus' *marry* her, then!" he exclaimed, throwing himself back into his seat fully, arms crossed over his chest, lip stuck out in an exaggerated pout.

"That's against the Code," Ahsoka felt the need to remind everyone, wishing the traffic would thin slightly, wishing the speeder would go faster, wishing they could just get back to the ship already so they could go *home*.

Anakin's gaze took on a sudden clarity. "Not if you keep it a secret," he murmured with a strange smile.

Ahsoka's brow furrowed. "What?"

"Nothin'."

Obi-Wan let out a soft moan, kneeing the back of the driver's seat as Ventress' mouth attacked his neck. "We... we should," he groaned, raking his fingernails down her back. "Get... ohhh.... get married."

Ahsoka took a deep breath, struggling to find her calm Jedi center. It was growing increasingly difficult. "No," she said firmly. "I'm driving, and I say nobody in this speeder is getting married!"

"We *should*," Ventress agreed, climbing completely into Obi-Wan's lap and nibbling his ear. "We should never... ever... be apart.... again." Their movement was causing the speeder's center of gravity to shift, which meant Ahsoka was having a bit of trouble keeping it steady. To say nothing of the fact Anakin had leaned over and grabbed the controls.

"Look!" he said, "if you... if you're... gonna do it, do it!" He pointed the speeder towards a garishly lit chapel whose sign advertised no questions asked ceremonies. "Sometimes," he said sagely, "you gotta do what's... what's in your... your *heart*." He peered out the window intently, the expression comical given his current state. "There should be a chapel a few blocks up," he gestured, grabbing at the wheel again. "C'mon, Snips, take us there."

"We're *not* going to the kriffing chapel!" Ahsoka screamed, tugging on the wheel and making the speeder lurch dangerously to the side. Behind her, Obi-Wan hissed in pain. Ventress swore.

"See, I told you not to use your teeth," Anakin brayed.

* * *

Ahsoka wanted to go home. As soon as she realized that what she thought was going to happen was actually going to happen, and that her Master was too busy procuring a foul-smelling drink in an oversized novelty cup from a vendor outside the chapel to be of any use, she knew she had to take matters into her own hands.

"Master," she said, tugging on Anakin's belt - his tunics long-gone by this point, "give me your commlink."

Anakin stared at her in confusion. "My...." He shook his head and she grabbed the commlink from his belt. "Go 'way, popsicle," he told her firmly. "I gotta... I gotta..." He lurched over to Ventress, who was still clinging to Obi-Wan. "Hey," he hissed. "Hey, *you*."

She swiveled to face him, scowling deeply. "*What*, Skywalker?" she snarled, squeezing Obi-Wan's rear end for emphasis. "Stop interrupting."

Ahsoka half-watched, trying to find the frequency for the Jedi Temple as Anakin draped an arm around Ventress' shoulders. "Lissen," he told her, "Lissen. I... I don't, I don't *like* you. But... but... but I want... I want Obi-Wan to be *happy*, so... so if you make him *not* happy..." He narrowed his eyes menacingly - or what *would* have been menacingly if he wasn't holding what was essential a sippy-cup filled with alcohol and could have stood up for more than thirty seconds without swaying. "I will end you."

Ahsoka bit her lip and activated the comm. The not-smiling face of Mace Windu appeared, scrambled at first, but then simply, well, Ahsoka didn't think she'd ever seen him smiling. "Padawan Tano," he greeted with a short nod. "Enjoying your leave?"

Ahsoka sighed. This was going to get ugly. "I'm sorry to report that our trip to Corellia has become ... complicated," she reported.

Windu's eyebrow quirked. "Complicated?" he repeated, looking bemused.

"We ran into some trouble," Ahsoka said vaguely, "And ... well ..."

"Padawan Tano, the Council cannot help you if it doesn't know how it's supposed to help," Windu said, the tone just short of barking.

Ahsoka took a breath and then released it, willing herself not to start squeaking. "Master Kenobi and Skywalker ran into Asajj Ventress," she finally blurted. "They were both drunk, and I'm pretty sure they all got poisoned with something."

Windu's face grew darker, if it were possible. "Where are they now, Ahsoka?" he coaxed, his voice full of barely-concealed irritation.

"They're ..." Ahsoka gulped. She knew it wasn't her fault, but she was still involved, and the situation was so *embarrassing*. "They're ... they're getting married!" she forced out.

Windu let out a chuckle. "Married?" he asked incredulously. There was a pause. "I think Mundi just won the betting pool," he muttered to himself.

Ahsoka blinked. "Master?"

"Where are they now, Ahsoka?"

"They're at the chapel in downtown Corellia," Ahsoka replied, feeling relieved that Windu wasn't dismissing her concerns outright the way Anakin had been doing all evening. "We all are. They made me drive them."

"What occurred during the encounter with Ventress?" Windu prompted. "Did she get away?"

Ahsoka bit her lip. "Um, Master Windu," she coughed, "it ... she ..."

"Tano, for kriff's sake, spit it out!" Windu roared.

"Master Kenobi is getting married to Asajj!" Ahsoka sobbed.

There was a long, horrible silence. "That's not amusing," Windu warned, leaning forward. Ahsoka struggled to keep from hyperventilating - she'd never had to speak to Master Windu alone before, and his intimidating manner combined with the stressful situation was making her want to cry.

"It's not," she agreed, swallowing heavily. "Here, uh, see for yourself." She angled the com so the camera could pick up the goings-on in the chapel. Obi-Wan and Ventress were at the alter, clutching and pawing at each other. Anakin was standing on the other side of Obi-Wan, stroking the older man's beard.

"I'm *so* happy for you, Mas'er," Anakin was slurring. "So, so, so happy... an' I'm jus'... I'm jus' glad I'm a *part* of this..." Obi-Wan was ignoring him in favor of exchanging sloppy kisses with Ventress.

"I've... never felt so ful...filled," Obi-Wan gushed to the magistrate, pressing a kiss against the side of Ventress' head.

Ahsoka closed her eyes and turned the com back to herself. "See?" she asked, feeling a heaviness settle in her chest. Behind her, Anakin groped at himself, hands fumbling as he ran them over his bare chest.

"Heey, Master Windu," he waved, and Ahsoka had to physically restrain herself from walking the short distance and drop-kicking him. Her Master pinched his right nipple. "Look, Massur, my shirt has a hole for my nipples!"

"Motherfucking crackers," Ahsoka heard Windu grumble, and winced. He gave Ahsoka a very impressive glower. "Try and keep them from getting in any *more* trouble," he instructed her. "A liaison from the Council will be there by morning."

"Why's my shirt... I can't get... my shirt off..." Anakin clawed at his chest, and Ahsoka heaved a sigh of relief. A few more hours, and she wouldn't have to deal with any of this anymore. She shouldn't have had to deal with it in the first place, she told herself firmly. Her Master should have taken care of her, kept her safe, like he promised. But he was trying to remove a shirt he wasn't wearing, and Obi-Wan had gotten married to a woman who tried to kill him on a routine basis. She got a sinking feeling *this* was the real Kenobi-and-Skywalker.

"Thank you, Master Windu," she said hurriedly as Anakin stumbled towards her. "I've... I have to go." Anakin was slurring something about celebrating Obi-Wan's nuptials - something Obi-Wan and Ventress seemed to agree with, if their impassioned moaning was any indication. "Master," Ahsoka said carefully, "Master?"

Anakin looked at her, but seemed very confused. "Why... why are you here?" he asked thickly. "I can't... if you... Everythin'... everyone I love... dies... you should, you - you need to stay away from me."

Ahsoka felt a strange ache spread through her, a discomfort she couldn't name."Master, you should probably sit down."

Anakin blinked. He seemed to realize his response was beyond the scope of the conversation, and looked vaguely apologetic. "Awww," he slurred, his eyelids heavy. "You won't leave me, will ya, Snipsss." He gulped a little. "You won't ... leave ... me ... you won't leave ..."

"Master," Ahsoka said cautiously. She reached out to grab his wrist. "Master, come on, come with me, please ..."

"You won't leave. You'll never leave. You're stuck with me forever. Forev-" Those were his last words before he emptied the impressive contents of his stomach on his Padawan's head.

All of Ahsoka's Jedi restraint flew out the window. She wanted to scream her horror and disgust, but couldn't make any noise. She stared up in disbelief as Anakin wiped his mouth with his gloved hand. "Mmm, feel better now," he murmured, stumbling backwards. Ahsoka clenched her fists, shaking, wanting very much to punch her intoxicated Master right in the jaw.

"We're going," she said instead, tightly, gritting her teeth, untying the scarf she'd worn around her waist to use as a towel. "We're going. NOW." She turned to Ventress and Obi-Wan, who were clinging tightly to one another and making their way over to them. "We're going," she repeated. "Get in the speeder. All of you."

To Ahsoka's surprise, nobody argued with her, although Obi-Wan and Ventress made their desire to go to a hotel to... consummate... their marriage well-known. The young Togruta was no longer in the mood to fight with any of them, so she acquiesced. The sooner everyone was in a confined, lockable space, she thought, the better.

Once in the speeder, Obi-Wan and Ventress wasted no time in shedding most of their clothing. The small craft filled with the smell of sweat and something else Ahsoka didn't immediately recognize, but her Master did. "Smells like sex in here," he mumbled, resting his head against the window.

Ahsoka groaned, willing herself not to turn around, and then blanching as she caught sight of the festivities with an accidental glance into the rearview mirror. Ventress growled something in between sucking face with Obi-Wan, which made her Master snicker. "What?" Ahsoka asked, irritated that there was anything even remotely amusing about this to anyone.

"What she said," Anakin snorted. "That means 'more tongue' in Huttese."

Ahsoka's nose crinkled as she focused on the road. "How romantic." She used the speeder's built-in navigation system to drive them to the nearest motel. Jedi didn't carry much in the way of spare change, but Ahsoka knew that Master Kenobi kept a quantifiable amount of emergency credits by the Council for ... not this, she was pretty sure, but she didn't feel too bad about making him foot the bill for it, given the circumstances. She used the Force to part Obi-Wan's credit chip from him, and she wasn't even remotely surprised that he didn't notice, so engrossed in Ventress' breasts as he was.

"We're here," she said, throwing the speeder into 'park' hard enough to slam Anakin's head against the dashboard. She wasn't even sorry. In fact, he deserved it. They all did. "Put clothes on. Get out. Let me do the talking."

Getting the three "adults" out of the speeder and into the motel's lobby was another chore. Obi-Wan and Ventress were luridly groping each other, and it was clear Anakin's grip on reality - and consciousness - was failing. The small Rodian at the front counter seemed very reluctant to provide a room to three intoxicated beings and a youngling, but when he saw the Jedi emblem on the credit chip, suddenly the best room in the motel became available.

The two-room suite was upstairs. Ahsoka herded the intrepid crew into the small lift that would bypass having to climb, not trusting any of her accompanying party to utilize even basic motor skills. Obi-Wan and Ventress, naturally, absconded into the first suite, the fabric of Ventress' wrap getting caught in the door as it shut. After some squawking and fumbling, they had remedied this.

The door slid open to the second room, equipped like its partner with only one large bed. Ahsoka wondered how this was going to work; Jedi were generally nonchalant about things like nudity and privacy, but it was her first occasion really having to consider sleeping arrangements with her very male Master, and especially with him in his current state ... she shook her head to clear it. "I'm going to take a quick shower," she announced to said Master, who was staring in awe at his hands.

"They're so big," he said, holding them up wondrously. "They ... can touch everything except for ... themselves ..."

"That's very nice, " Ahsoka said blandly. She hesitated in front of the refresher door, worrying at the notion of Anakin being unattended in this state. "Will you be okay for a few minutes? I just want to wash the puke off of my head."

"You didn't taste like popsicles," Anakin frowned, as if it were Ahsoka's fault.

Ahsoka sighed and grabbed Anakin's flesh wrist. "And I'm sorry about that, Sky Guy," she told him, "I really am. But right now I need to wash your puke off my head." He blinked at her, his eyes half-lidded and glassy, and he looked very much like he was going to be sick again. "Great," she muttered. "Come on." Pulling him forward, she decided that she would have to trust he would be too interested in the bottom of the toilet bowl to peek in at her while she washed.

The 'fresher was larger than the one in the Padawan dorms, but it was still too small to comfortably accommodate two beings. Still, she didn't want to leave Anakin alone, and she was feeling very sticky and smelly. Not to mention that the running of the shower would cover the sound of the raucous... whatever... going on in the next room. Master Obi-Wan, she had quickly realized, could be *loud* when he wanted to be. "Okay, Master," she said, lowering him to the floor in front of the toilet. "Just don't flush while I'm in there, alright?"

"'Kay," he said blearily. Ahsoka wanted to add that he wasn't allowed to retch anymore, either, but realized that it was inevitable.

The water was hot, refreshing, blissful. Ahsoka tilted her head back, allowing herself to luxuriate in it. Grabbing a loofah, she located a bar of complimentary soap in a ridge in the shower door, still in its wrapper, and tore it open. She began scrubbing at her head-tails first, realizing that the smell of vomit probably wasn't that bad, but happy to be getting clean anyways. She closed her eyes as the water pulsed over her, the sound rhythmic, almost hypnotic. It had been a long night. Maybe it'd be okay if she just ... drifted off ... just for a ... moment ...

"Aaahh! Master, I asked you not to flush!" she screamed as the water turned unexpectedly icy. She pulled open the curtain, still keeping her important bits carefully concealed. "You're such a jerk," she cried, glaring at Anakin, who was, as usual, not taking her even remotely seriously.

"Heh," he giggled, "Your head is all foamy." He propped his elbow on the rim of the toilet bowl and rested his head on his hand, and it would have been cutely inquisitive, Ahsoka thought, if he didn't have a string of vomit running down his chin. "You... you don't even have hair!" Anakin added, as if he'd just come to understand the very nature of the universe.

Ahsoka closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. "Don't. Do that. Again." She wished she were controlled enough in the Force to give her Master a sleep suggestion. When this was over, she'd have to bring it up. With someone other than Anakin or Obi-Wan. Maybe Master Windu would take pity on her...

"M'not a youngling, *youngling*," Anakin replied, his elbow slipping and sending him head-first towards the floor.

"Could have fooled me," Ahsoka snapped back. A sudden wave of fatigue washed over her. She tugged the shower curtain closed without another word, finishing her shower with perfunctory quickness, rather than relaxing the way she had been. "Can you hand me a towel?" she asked, extending a hand between the wall and the curtain. She made grabbing motions to indicate haste. Eventually, soft, white cloth was thrust into her hand. "Thank you," she said curtly, and began drying herself off. Anakin hummed to himself - well, to someone, anyway - his eyes half-closed as he swayed a little in place. He looked like an oversized youngling, and Ahsoka found herself taking vague pity on him for it.

"Come on, Sky Guy," she said, begrudgingly extending a hand. Anakin took it. "Oof," Ahsoka gasped, not expecting quite so much heft. Her Master was all gangly limbs and unruly hair - it didn't seem possible that he was that heavy. Then again, he wasn't exactly helping her out here.

It was as if each of his limbs had developed a very separate and distinct consciousness, none of which was interested in working with any of the others. "Are you... what..." He seemed to be having trouble figuring out what Ahsoka was trying to do - namely, get him into bed with a minimum of effort - and was making an impressive effort to go in the exact opposite direction of where she was guiding him. "Obi-Wan..." Anakin whispered thickly, bowing his head, as if in mourning.

"Bed time, Master." Ahsoka attempted once more to push her Master towards the bed and, hopefully, sleep she was surprised hadn't come yet.

Anakin tumbled onto the bed, finally, and she pulled off his boots. "When you sober up," she informed him sternly, "we're going to have a *long talk*." The only response she got was a soft snuffling from Anakin and a shout of ecstasy from the other room. "I want to go home," she said to herself softly, draping a blanket over him and settling herself on the floor, preparing for a long, sleepless night.


	3. Chapter 3: Made of Steel, Made of Stone

Summary: A run-of-the-mill weekend excursion on the pleasure planet of Corellia results in consequences far more dire than Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi, and Ahsoka Tano anticipate when Obi-Wan ends up married to Asajj Ventress. Chapter Three: Obi-Wan, Ventress and company learn the consequences of their sordid night together. Co-written with D. Rated PG-13.

* * *

**What Happens on Corellia**

_Chapter Three - Made of Steel, Made of Stone_

* * *

Obi-Wan Kenobi came to consciousness slowly. It took him a long moment to realize that there was someone sprawled on top of him, but once he figured that out, it took only a few seconds to decide that said someone must be Anakin. After all, the younger Jedi tended to get a bit friendly after a couple of drinks, and if Obi-Wan remembered correctly, they'd both had quite a lot more than that the previous night. He wasn't overly surprised that they'd ended up in bed together, given the circumstances, and Anakin's presence was comforting. And besides, he rationalized sleepily, swinging his legs downward and yawning, who else would it be?

He padded blearily to the refresher, scratching his stubble absently and as he fumbled for the light switch. An unhappy squawk made him jump a little. "Kriff, not so loud," Anakin mumbled, sounding very much as if his mouth were full of dust.

Obi-Wan cocked his head. "Nobody said anything, Anakin." Vaguely, he wondered how Anakin had gone from cuddling against his back to sprawled across the 'fresher, hugging the bowl like a pillow. His mind was fuzzy, not quite putting everything together in a way that completely made sense, but there wasn't anything all that absurd about the details he did have. It wasn't as if he'd never seen Anakin clinging to the 'fresher, after all. Moderation was something he'd never been able to impart on his wayward Padawan.

"Could you please move?" he requested politely, nudging Anakin with his foot. Anakin moaned and tumbled sideways to lie between the toilet and the tub, giving Obi-Wan access to the toilet bowl. "Thank you," he said, and Anakin clapped his hands over his ears. Obi-Wan wondered, if this was the state Anakin was in, how he *had* moved so fast from the bed to the 'fresher. Then again, when a man had to rid his stomach of a night's worth of Tatooine Sunburns, a man had to move fast. It wasn't until he heard a lightsaber ignite that he realized something was very wrong with the scenario he'd concocted.

"For kriff's sake!" Anakin exclaimed, curling into a ball as Obi-Wan rushed from the 'fresher to investigate. Obi-Wan ignored him, intent on finding the source of the noise. He didn't have long to wait. In the space previously thought to be occupied by Anakin, he discovered, was none other than Ventress, dressed in something much more revealing than anything he'd seen her in before, her face contorted into a half-snarl, half-pained expression. Next to the rumpled bed, her lightsaber drawn and pointed at Ventress' neck was Ahsoka.

"Don't worry, Master Kenobi," she said, teeth gritted. "I've got everything under control."

"That's what you think, brat," Ventress growled.

From beyond the open 'fresher door, a long sigh sounded from Anakin: "Can't a guy get a little peace and quiet for his hangover?" he bemoaned loudly.

"No!" Ahsoka and Obi-Wan shouted in unison.

Ventress smirked. "Jedi scum, in stereo," she remarked.

Obi-Wan stared at the scene before him, trying to make sense of it all. Flashes of memory were coming back to him, aided by the Force, and he was *really* hoping his memory was playing horrible tricks on him. Unfortunately, he couldn't very well explain Ventress' presence in any other way. "What," he asked slowly, carefully, "is going on here?"

Ventress turned and gave him a sickly smile, holding up her hand to point at a garish ring encircling her finger. "You mean you don't remember, *darling*?" she snarled, reaching for her lightsabers.

But, unhindered by a hangover or confusion, Ahsoka was faster, calling the twin 'sabers to herself with the Force. "I don't think so," she said firmly. "You are under arrest, Ventress."

Obi-Wan couldn't help feeling incredibly useless and unhappy. How could this have happened? How could he have let something this ridiculous, this unthinkable, happen? Had he really been *that* drunk? He wanted to believe that no matter his mental state, he'd know better than to marry a creature as evil as Ventress. "I..."

"You," a voice said from the doorway, "have a *lot* of explaining to do."

Ahsoka squeaked at the booming tone. Anakin, halfway to tackling Ventress or whatever his alcohol-addled mind had taken upon itself to tell him to do, tripped over an upturned corner of rug, landing on his arms with a loud series of swear words. Ventress bared her teeth.

"Master Windu? What are you doing here?" Obi-Wan ventured.

Windu glowered. "Babysitting you crackers, as usual," he said. Ahsoka seemed to consider pointing out that she wasn't technically a "cracker", but decided against it and stayed silent.

"We dun need -- ow, babysitting, Massur," Anakin mumbled, still face-down in the motel carpet. Speaking of someone who could use a little verbal restraint, Ahsoka thought, irritated.

Windu surveyed the room, eyes glittering darkly with deep irritation. "Ahsoka contacted us on your commlink last night, Kenobi," he proffered. "Perhaps I should first say, 'congratulations'," he snorted.

"Yeah, congratulations, Master," Anakin added, pumping a hand in the air.

"Skywalker, I don't want to hear another word out of your mouth, you hear me?" Windu barked.

Anakin frowned, somehow managing to crawl to one of the chairs flanking the bed. "It wasn't *my* fault," he grumbled, and Ahsoka wanted very much to throw one of Ventress' lightsabers at his head.

Windu crossed his arms over his chest. "Now," he said sternly, displeasure painting his features even darker than usual, "you are to return to Coruscant immediately." He held up a hand to Force-bind Ventress, the would-be Sith struggling, scowling. "*She*," he continued, fastening a pair of electrostatic cuffs around her wrists, "is to remain confined."

"Master," Obi-Wan said, sounding somewhat nervous, "what will happen upon our return?"

Ahsoka hoped it involved some serious Council-mandated ass-kicking, but kept her mouth shut. Instead, Windu replied, "Padawan Tano indicated that you were poisoned." His tone implied his disbelief. "So you will go to the Healer's, then you will report *immediately* to the Council."

"Can I take a nap?" Anakin asked from the chair, covering his eyes with his mechanical hand. "If we're taking the Council shuttle back..."

Windu gave him a look that would have frozen Mustafar. "I thought I told you to shut your damn mouth," he snapped. "And you three have a perfectly acceptable transport."

"But it smells like pee," Anakin whined, continuing to ignore Master Windu's warning. Ahsoka grimaced, but privately agreed; she didn't particularly look forward to another ride in their rented vehicle, memories of the previous night tainting it even more than the various bodily fluids that had likely been included in the renting fees - and, Ahsoka thought, most likely added to.

Obi-Wan seemed to be the only one of the party capable of speaking without making Windu's eye twitch, though he was pushing it. "And what of Ventress, Master?" he asked. "She's much too dangerous to simply hand over to the authorities."

"We could send a Jedi to keep an eye on her," Ahsoka said helpfully.

"Yeah, but thass stupid," Anakin yawned. "Who wants to babysit a wannabe Sith lord on their weekend?"

"I'm right here," Ventress remarked, but the Jedi all ignored her.

"Well, I think it's better than any idea you'd come up with," Ahsoka retorted, hands on her hips. "You'd probably take your clothes off and throw up on someone."

"He totally would," Ventress snorted.

"It's a culpable repercussion," Obi-Wan mused.

"You're a culpable repercussion, Kenobi."

"That does not make any sense whatsoe-"

"EVERYBODY SHUT YOUR STANGING MOUTHS!" Windu roared. The room immediately fell silent, enough to hear water dripping from the faucet in the refresher sink.

"No yelling," Anakin whimpered, swallowing heavily. Ahsoka wondered why she'd been so worried about him choking on his own vomit the previous night - at least it would have meant he'd be quiet for more than five seconds.

Windu took a deep breath, and Ahsoka could sense him trying to calm himself in the Force. It didn't seem to be working very well. "You three will take Ventress back to Coruscant in your own transport," he said evenly, daring any of them to argue. "You will report to the Healer's, then to the Council. I am this close to expelling you, damn the will of the rest of the Council."

Ahsoka's stomach dropped. *Expel* them? *All* of them? It didn't seem fair, and she furrowed her brow, her head-tails twitching in her irritation and anxiety. She swallowed heavily, and nodded. "Yes, Master Windu," she squeaked.

"I'll see you back on Coruscant," Windu said grimly, and Ahsoka swallowed the ball of dread that had lodged in her throat. She had *known* this trip had been a bad idea.

* * *

Anakin just wanted to go to sleep. Still hungover, his grasp on recent events was tenuous at best - he wasn't sure why Windu had appeared and disappeared so suddenly, but he was pretty sure it meant he'd be getting reamed by the Council in the near future. At the moment, however, all he knew for sure was that he didn't want to talk to anyone, especially not Ahsoka, who had commandeered the controls of their shuttle, claiming he was probably still too drunk to figure out which controls operated the hyperdrive. He'd found he couldn't particularly argue with that. Obi-Wan was in the back, guarding Ventress, who for some reason was there too. Married, Anakin remembered blearily. Ventress and Obi-Wan had gotten married. Why? That was stupid, and his Master was not a stupid man. Neither was Ventress, come to think of it. Except Ventress was, of course, a woman. Kind of.

He couldn't make sense of it, so instead he decided to spend the trip sleeping. Unfortunately, his apprentice had other ideas. As soon as they were out of Corellia's atmosphere and in hyperspace, she was standing over him. "Master," she said, her arms crossed over her chest. She looked blurry, Anakin thought, until he realized his eyes were still half-closed. "We need to have a talk about my expectations as your Padawan."

Anakin groaned. "Can't this wait?" he asked, throwing an arm across his eyes. He didn't feel well - why couldn't his own apprentice sense that? Why didn't she care? Obi-Wan would have cared, he thought sullenly.

"No," she replied sharply, narrowing her eyes. "No, we need to talk now, before we have to deal with the fallout with the Council. If we're not going to get expelled," she emphasized, "I need to know that this isn't going to happen again." She looked so... mature, Anakin suddenly realized. So sure of herself, and poised. So much more so than he had been at her age, in any case.

"Obi-Wan doesn't marry the enemy on a regular basis," Anakin informed her, turning away. "Seriously, Snips, this needs to wait. I need to sleep."

"I'm not talking about that!" Ahsoka exclaimed, raising her voice, and Anakin winced as it sent shockwaves of pain through his temples. "I'm talking about *you!*" Her head-tails twitched, and she frowned deeply. "You promised you'd keep me safe last night, but you didn't take my concerns seriously at all. You got so drunk that you let you and Master Obi-Wan get poisoned. And then you *threw up on me*." She shook her head, and Anakin swallowed heavily. Surely he hadn't been *that* bad, had he? "You made a complete fool of yourself, Master, and you put us all in a *lot* of danger. I need to know that won't happen again."

Anakin sighed. "This," he ground out, "is a conversation that would go much, much better when we're home." He didn't think he could have a serious conversation about his behavior with his stomach and head threatening to betray him. During his Padawanship, Obi-Wan had learned early on that "I'm very disappointed in you" talks really needed to wait until Anakin's hangover went away. Apparently, Ahsoka needed to learn the same lesson.

"We're not going to have *time* when we get home," Ahsoka shot back. "And I'm mad at you *now*." She scowled at him, and he sighed, realizing that she wasn't going to take the hint, wasn't going to leave him alone. "*Why* would you be so *stupid*?" she demanded.

It was as though Obi-Wan were speaking through the Togruta. When had Ahsoka taken lessons in making him feeling like a recalcitrant youngling? He got the feeling she wasn't going to accept his rote excuse, either. So instead, he sighed. "I don't know what to tell you, Snips."

He could sense her frustration both in the Force and in the way her small hands clenched into tight fists. "Tell me you're going to grow up and be the responsible Master you're *supposed* to be!" she exclaimed. "I know you didn't *choose* me, and I know you never *wanted* a Padawan," she continued, and he could hear his own worries about his apprenticeship with Obi-Wan in her voice. "But you have one now, which means you have to at least *pretend* you want to help me become a Jedi! You can't *do* that if you're 'partying' or otherwise being a complete bantha's ass! You let your guard down and almost got yourself and Master Obi-Wan killed!"

Anakin frowned deeply. His intention hadn't been for anyone to get hurt. He'd just wanted to have some fun, just wanted to blow off some steam. The stress of the war itself and suddenly being responsible for the well-being of another being had begun to grate on him, and he'd felt himself growing despondent and unhappy. He'd felt like a night out would help, would make him feel as though things were balancing into normalcy, would undo the knot of tension that lived in his gut. Obviously, none of those things had happened, and now he just felt worse. He *could* have gotten them all killed, Ahsoka included, because he'd been too out of it to do anything. Some hero. But he couldn't voice his doubts and fears to his apprentice - she respected him so little as it was. If she knew what uneasy terror existed in him, she'd never take him seriously as her Master.

"Might I remind you," he said tightly, "that I wasn't the one who decided marrying Asajj Ventress was the best idea since sliced bread." He didn't want to lay blame on Obi-Wan, but honestly, he hadn't been the only one drinking last night. Even as he said it, though, he knew it was a stupid thing to say. It sounded like he was trying to get out of taking the responsibility that was rightfully his. And he knew it.

"You seemed to think it was a pretty good idea," Ahsoka pointed out. "Along with taking off your clothes and telling Master Windu your tunic had... had... *nipple holes*... Master, you *licked* me!" She sounded so upset, so disillusioned and distraught, and guilt gnawed at him. How could he have acted like that, in front of her? In front of Obi-Wan? Then again, Obi-Wan probably hadn't noticed.

"Obi-Wan married Ventress!" he repeated, as if that would get him off the hook. He needed something to waylay his guilt, and going back to his Master's own transgression (which, as bad as licking his apprentice and then vomiting on her sounded, was much worse) was the only thing he could really think of to do.

Ahsoka shook her head. "We're not *talking* about Master Obi-Wan right now," she reminded him. "We're *talking* about what *you* did! Or didn't do! Or... or... *whatever*." Her head-tails were twitching violently now, and Anakin wasn't sure how he was going to diffuse this. "Please, please, just... promise this isn't something I'm going to have to worry about," she said after a long pause, her voice lowered. "You're my Master," she added. "I don't want anything to happen to you." She looked somewhat embarrassed by her admission, and she looked down at the floor. "I'm mad because something could have happened to you."

There it was. Ahsoka worried about him. Anakin couldn't help thinking that, if the girl was a worrier, he was probably the last Knight in the Order she should have been paired with. But maybe her assignment to him was a test for both of them, after all. He sighed and reached out a hand, stroking a warily twitching head-tail. "Master," Ahsoka said warningly.

"I'm sorry to have worried you, Snips," Anakin said, the sincerity surprising them both. He'd never had a problem being remorseful for his less-than-Jedi-like behavior; it was just that he never quite managed to talk himself out of acting out to begin with. He sensed his Master understood that, deep down, he always WAS sorry for his transgressions, but it wasn't going to stop him from doing them again (and again). He knew Obi-Wan would always forgive him, even turn a blind eye in the instances where no real harm would come to him.

It was different with Ahsoka, though - he knew she was exasperatedly charmed by him as everybody else, but on another level, he sensed he was letting her down, souring her build up of the whole apprenticeship experience. It made him want to be a better Master. Was that a sign of maturity, he wondered, or did Ahsoka need a little disillusioning? "You have to admit it, though, Snips," he said, his hand moving to squeeze her shoulder; "I'm a fun drunk."

"And then you throw up on my head," Ahsoka reminded him, but her eyes gleamed mischievously. "You're a bad dancer, too."

"What!" Anakin frowned at his now smirking Padawan. "I'm a GREAT dancer," he argued.

Ahsoka snorted. "You don't even dance!" she balked. "You just kind of shift your balance from one foot to another and lurch on the dance floor. Like a Hutt!" She began to do an impression of him, arms over her head, expression purposely deadpan until she collapsed into giggles at her own joke. "I'm doing the Skywalker," she grinned.

Anakin shrugged, still sulking just a tad. "Well, whatever. At least I'm hot," he muttered.

"Yes, that's very important," Ahsoka agreed patronizingly.

Anakin sniffed. "You have no idea how many tight spots I've gotten out of by using my natural assets," he said boastfully.

Ahsoka didn't miss a beat: "And how many of those tight spots could you have avoided by not flashing your assets in the first place?" she retorted.

Anakin shrugged, his mind returning to its previous fuzzy state rather quickly. "I ... resemble that remark," he said with a yawn, propping his chin on his gloved robotic hand. He must have looked pitiful even by Ahsoka's standards, because she patted him on the head almost sweetly.

"I'll tell Master Obi-Wan that you're resting up," he heard her say as he drifted off. And though he was accustomed to putting off rest for days, even weeks when the situation called for it, Anakin allowed sleep to claim him, Ahsoka's Force signature thrumming comfortingly nearby. She would watch over him, he decided.

* * *

Obi-Wan Kenobi was not having a good day. First of all, he was slightly hungover. That wouldn't be a problem in and of itself, but for the fact he found himself undeniably... Attached, in a legal sense... to someone who had made it their sole purpose in life to impale him on something pointy. Said someone was being held in Force-inhibiting cuffs, throwing death glares at anyone who even tried to glance in her direction as she, Obi-Wan, Anakin, and Ahsoka stood in the center of the Council chamber. She'd fought tooth and nail when they'd been at the Healers', even going so far as to fling a tray of urine samples against a wall.

He was still trying to get his head around how in all the galaxy this could have happened, and to HIM, of all people, when Mace Windu spoke. "We have the test results back," he said grimly, and Obi-Wan knew he could at least be relieved to be blaming a poison for his uncharacteristic actions.

"About time," Anakin muttered at his right. Out of instinct, Obi-Wan gave him a Look, but privately agreed. He rarely did anything to warrant the Council's lecturing, and couldn't help but feel that this particular instance was hardly his fault - Asajj Ventress was a handful even with all of his wits about him. The sooner they got the obligatory scolding out of the way, the better.

Unfortunately, Master Windu seemed to be drawing it out - likely intentionally, Obi-Wan thought, stifling a sigh. He was relieved when his childhood friend, Bant strode into the room. A Mon Calamari, Bant had made a name for herself as one of the Temple's most skilled Healers. He also knew her to be diplomatic during particularly sensitive situations, which Obi-Wan wholly appreciated, both at present, and in past instances when Anakin had required medical care for one reason or another. Bant never seemed to need to ask too many questions.

Master Windu nodded at her. "Master Eerin," he addressed, "What do your test results show?"

Bant cleared her throat quietly, shuffling a small sheaf of papers in her hands. "The substance in Master Kenobi and Asajj Ventress' systems seems to react to itself. Both subjects' inhibitions were significantly lowered as they were drawn to one another for a time. The reaction was temporary, and there appears to be no lasting damage," she summated.

Windu nodded gruffly. "So Kenobi and Skywalker are back to 'normal'?" he queried, making air quotes. Obi-Wan heard Anakin's small noise of irritation, and tried not to admit that he was mildly aggrieved at their treatment by the Council himself. It hardly helped that Ventress noticed their discomfort and audibly snickered from across the room. Windu glared at her, and Anakin bared his teeth.

Bant shifted, glancing briefly down at the high-polished floor. "Master Kenobi and Ventress showed trace amounts of the substance," she clarified. "But Master Skywalker was clean, in that sense."

Everyone in the room seemed to be processing this newfound information. Obi-Wan looked over at Anakin, who kept opening and closing his mouth, as though trying to come up with a decent explanation - or excuse. "So, you're saying..." Windu prompted, waving his hand.

Bant blinked her huge eyes, slowly. "Master Skywalker was not exposed to the substance," she clarified. "He did, however, have significant signs of severe acute alcohol intoxication." The medical jargon didn't hide the truth, and Obi-Wan let out a sharp breath, wondering if he was within his rights (and the Code) to be positively furious with his former apprentice.

"But... I..." Anakin sputtered, until Windu held up a hand, giving him a look that Obi-Wan had only seen once or twice - a look that meant 'I'm going to kill you, cracker'.

"For fuck's sake, Skywalker," Windu snapped, echoing Obi-Wan's sentiment. Ventress began positively giggling in amusement and Obi-Wan afforded her a sharp glare.

Anakin held up his hands in a sort of mock peace offering. "The thing you have to understand," he began, speaking with deliberate slowness as if he wasn't sure where he was going with it, "is that ... I mean, Ahsoka was there, too," he finished abruptly.

Ahsoka, mostly quiet up until this point, began squeaking indignantly. "But you ... he ... I didn't ... he was DRUNK and threw up on my HEAD-"

Windu held up a hand to silence her. "There's nothing so far that insinuates that Ahsoka should be punished for anything," he bellowed. "If anything, she reacted in accordance with the Code under extreme duress, and against the poor judgment of a couple of Jedi who should have kriffing known better." Obi-Wan hung his head. Anakin seemed to take nothing out of the tirade beyond the fact that Windu had cursed, and Ventress muttered something about the judgment of the Jedi Order in general that even made Bant roll her eyes.

"So ... what happens now, Master Windu?" Ahsoka asked tentatively, minutely braver now that she knew she wasn't in trouble.

Windu cleared his throat and glanced at the other Council members assembled. "The three of you will be off active duty for the time being," he said, and Anakin huffed in indignation. Obi-Wan closed his eyes - this did not bode well at all. "We've been given an... interesting ... opportunity here."

"Master?" Obi-Wan ventured, nervously. He didn't like the idea of being cooped up in the Temple with a restless and angry Anakin for any length of time, quite frankly.

"Since you felt the need to be married," Windu continued, "the Council has decided that you should live up to your vows." Obi-Wan felt a funny little tingle in his chest and wondered if he was having a heart attack. "Ventress will be fitted with a permanent Force-suppressor, and you and she will live together. Our hope is to gain information."

"You can't do this!" Ventress screeched, making to run at the Korun Master but was able to do little more than shift her feet given her current restraints. "It's torture!"

She was easily waylaid by Windu, which only served to infuriate her more. She let loose a series of obscenities that made Ahsoka gasp and Anakin giggle, before he was rudely elbowed in the ribs by his Master. Obi-Wan waited patiently while Anakin's coughing fit subsided, before offering his own two cents.

"With all due respect, Master ..." At this, Windu shot him a withering glare. "It seems an awful liability to allow Ventress ANY freedom in her daily affairs. She is a prisoner of war and should be retained as such." Unspoken was the panic fluttering in him at the idea of co-habitating with, well, that.

Windu's smirk was telling - Obi-Wan had spent more than a decade assuring Anakin that the Council never reacted to situations out of revenge; that every consequence was meant as a growing experience. But the look on the darker man's face was positively EVIL. "We're not doing that," he replied simply, and then held up his hand to tick the reasons off with his fingers. "One, the Council feels that a few weeks with the pair of you will be, as she says, worse torture than any solitary confinement. And two, you DID marry her, after all."

Obi-Wan bit his tongue, realizing that there was no negotiation to get him out of this unhappy situation. He was about to request that the group take its leave, but Anakin opened his mouth yet again: "But wait, Master. Obi-Wan's the one who got married. Where am I gonna stay while he schmoozes her into giving up information?"

Windu's expression was positively gleeful, now. "The last time I checked, you two shared an apartment," he said simply.

"Yeah," Anakin argued. "But - I mean, how is that possibly fair?"

"Because you were there, too, Master," Ahsoka pointed out crisply.

Anakin waved his hand. "I don't think I can be held accountable for Obi-Wan exercising such poor judgment," he said airily. He pointedly ignored what sounded like his Master giving birth to a litter of puuri-cats at this remark.

Ahsoka harrumphed and crossed her arms. "Are you trying to say that that's NOT your name listed on those papers as having acute alcohol poisoning?" she nearly shrieked, gesturing in Bant's direction.

Anakin shrugged. "I really don't know, I'm not wearing my glasses."

"You don't WEAR glasse-"

"DISMISSED!" Windu interrupted. He made a shooing motion with his hands. Anakin looked as if he wanted to say more, but another elbow shooting in his direction shut him up. Bant left the room first, followed swiftly by Ahsoka, whose fists were clenched tightly.

Anakin watched as Obi-Wan and Ventress began performing a sort of annoyed dance as each tried to convince the other to exit first. "Nice try, Kenobi," Ventress sneered. "I don't want you anywhere near my back." Obi-Wan rolled his eyes, then glanced back at Windu pleadingly.

The dark-skinned man waggled his fingers mockingly. "Have fun," he insinuated.

* * *

Before Anakin could catch her, Ahsoka had scurried off in the direction of the Padawan dorms, obviously relieved to be able to escape the fate of her Master and grand-Master. Ventress, for her part, made rude comments about Obi-Wan's parentage the entire way to their own apartment, which Anakin knew from experience only served to exasperate the older man.

All he wanted to do was crawl into bed for a while, and the relief he felt as the door slid open was palpable. Unfortunately, the Force had other ideas. "I'm not sleeping in your bed, Kenobi," Ventress snarled, stalking into the main living area and eying the place critically. "And that couch looks awful."

Obi-Wan seemed to consider this, and Anakin had a very *bad feeling*. "Well, I suppose..."

Anakin shook his head. "Oh, no," he said, holding up his hands as Ventress made a bee-line towards his bedroom. "No, no, she's *not* sleeping in *my* room!"

Ventress stuck her head in and made a disgusted face. "Not until you clean it. And you will," she vowed.

"Can't make me," Anakin smirked, crossing his arms over his chest.

Ventress waved a hand in front of her face, wrists still bound loosely together in the Force-suppressing cuffs. "This entire place smells like farts," she said accusingly.

"Then you should feel right at home," Anakin taunted back.

"Anakin, stop antagonizing," Obi-Wan said tiredly, ignoring his former apprentice's grousing that Obi-Wan shouldn't be bitching at him. His commlink beeped, and he scrolled through the short message on the rectangular screen. "We've a meeting in the Healer's ward this afternoon to install Ventress' permanent suppressor," he noted aloud.

Ventress snarled. "Over my dead body."

"That can be arranged," Anakin began, his hand moving to his lightsaber holster. At a significant disadvantage, Ventress nonetheless grabbed an empty beverage bottle off the counter, breaking off a large shard and brandishing it the way she would any more comparable weapon.

Sighing, Obi-Wan held up both hands, summoning both the glass bottle and Anakin's lightsaber. Dual noises of protest sounded, but he ignored them. "That is enough. Anakin, you will NOT kill Ventress. It is the will of the Council that she remains alive, so that she can supply us with information."

"I'll supply you with my boot up your ass, Kenobi," Ventress said heatedly.

Obi-Wan Force-levitated the broken bottle pieces into a nearby garbage can. "By all means," he said, his calm somewhat forced, "continue to quarrel with Anakin and toss containers of urine at people. It will only prolong your torment."

Ventress snickered. "You smell like pee, Kenobi," she cackled, eyes gleaming with mean-spirited amusement.

"Oh kriff, you do, Master," Anakin offered, having drawn closer to re-collect his lightsaber.

Obi-Wan sighed. He had no doubt he did. After all, the tray of urine samples Ventress had hurled across the Healer's ward had conveniently splattered right next to him, causing the caustic liquid to splash onto his robes and boots and Anakin, who had been sitting some distance away, to decorate the floor with the remnants of his stomach contents. Truth be told, he was sure they all smelled horrid. "Thank you," he said. "I don't suppose the two of you can be trusted not to kill each other if I go take a shower?" It was a lot to ask for, he knew.

"No," Ventress replied.

"No promises, Master," Anakin added, snatching up his lightsaber. Obi-Wan really hoped he wasn't going to have to lock up Anakin's weapon for the duration of this so-called mission.

Quickly, he ran through a mental list of possible solutions; he considered having Ahsoka babysit her wayward Master and Ventress, but decided the girl had been through quite enough in the past day or so.

Eventually, he threw caution to the wind. "I will take my chances," he muttered, and barricaded himself into the 'fresher, both for a shower, and some much needed privacy. The paperback novel he'd left on the countertop from a previous visit beckoned to him; with any luck, he could secrete himself away until the Healer's meeting.

"-- not my fault you have the finesse of a bantha in heat," Ventress' voice rang out, infiltrating Obi-Wan's sanctuary. Unwittingly, he found himself a third party to their latest sniping: "But then, I guess with your upbringing, it couldn't be helped. Whatever would your mother say?"

"My mother was a saint," Anakin yelled back. Obi-Wan re-read the same passage in his book six or seven times before he gave up, dog-earing the page with a sigh. Perhaps he would just settle for getting through a shower without somebody being murdered in his apartment.


	4. Chapter 4: Wrap Around

Summary: A run-of-the-mill weekend excursion on the pleasure planet of Corellia results in consequences far more dire than Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi, and Ahsoka Tano anticipate when Obi-Wan ends up married to Asajj Ventress. Chapter Four: Ventress is indoctrinated, kicking and screaming, into everyone's daily routine at the Temple. Written with D.

* * *

**What Happens on Corellia**

_Chapter Four - Wrap Around_

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* * *

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Ahsoka had never been happier to see her little room in the Padawan dorms, the bed soft and inviting, the walls adorned with holopics of her Master (all of which she was very sorry to have put up at this point because, quite frankly, she didn't even want to *think* about him, let alone look at him), warm and comforting and distinctly NOT smelling of urine or vomit.

She still couldn't quite grasp what had happened. It seemed a little too surreal to be true, quite frankly, but then again, she'd experienced some very surreal things as Anakin Skywalker's apprentice. This just seemed to be the logical next step. She was just very grateful she didn't share the apartment with the two Jedi. Thank the Force for small favors.

A sudden knock on the door startled her. She had not been expecting visitors, and quite frankly, after the events of the past couple of days, was not in the mood to interact with anyone. She was further aggrieved when the person staggering on the other side of the peephole was her Master, a lopsided grin on his face and a half-empty bottle of booze clutched in his flesh hand. Ahsoka wasn't sure which to be more infuriated about.

"Long time no see," Anakin drawled when she pulled open the door after heaving an irritated sigh that she was sure her Master had heard. He stepped forward. "C'mon, Snips, move over, I need to sit down."

"Master, you're drunk!" Ahsoka accused in a loud whisper. She braced her hands on either side of the door frame, mentally refusing to give in to him, no matter how much he turned on the charm.

Anakin just snorted. "No kriffing duh," he laughed, nearly tipping over from the vertigo of moving his head. When Ahsoka failed to move, he pouted. "Aren't you happy to ... see me?" he asked, and then let out a burp.

Ahsoka glared. "Give me that," she ordered, prying the bottle from Anakin's fingers. "You know alcohol isn't allowed in the Padawan dorms. What if Master Windu happened by and saw this?"

"You sound like Obi-Wan," Anakin slurred, waving his hand. "And anyway, I'm a ... Master now," he yawned. "Windu can't do gundark crap to me."

"He can kick you out of the Order still," Ahsoka pointed out, not bothering to inform her Master that she considered it a compliment to be compared to Obi-Wan. Well, most of the times anyways. "Look, why don't you just go home and take a nap? You look like you could use it."

Anakin stared at her blearily. "Can't go home," he managed. "Obi-Wan's new wifey is there, in case you'd forgotten."

"Oh." Ahsoka hadn't, of course, but she still hadn't expected her Master to come to her for comfort, of all people. "Uh, so is that... oh." She'd thought he would have learned his lesson, but apparently he was denser than she gave him credit for.

Anakin pushed by her and stumbled to her bed, falling onto it with a grunt. "She took my bedroom," he moaned unhappily, brushing his fingers against his lips. "She took my bedroom and I haveta sleep on the couch and she insulted my *mom*!"

"Oh," Ahsoka repeated, hesitantly looking up and down the hall to see if anyone had observed her Master's sudden - and unwanted - appearance. "I'm sorry, I guess, but ..." She put down the liquor bottle on her desk. "But it's technically partially your fault, you know," she reminded him. "You know, cause you got *drunk*." She wondered if the talk they'd had on the way home had registered at all.

Anakin waved his hand in her general direction. "We're not ... I don't want to talk about this again," he informed her. Okay, maybe it had, and he'd just disregarded it. As usual. "This was a stupid idea, even by Council standards. I want my room back!"

Sighing, Ahsoka sat beside him. He pushed her away and moved to lie down. "Gonna sleep here," he slurred. "Go do your homework or somethin'." Ahsoka wondered what the penalties were for Master-cide. She doubted anyone on the Council would blame her.

"I don't have any homework," she said firmly. "And you're not sleeping here." She thought for a moment. "Don't you have any other friends to stay with? Any *special* friends?"

Anakin's stomach gurgled. "Padme doesn't like me comin' over when I'm d-drunk," he managed. "She says I smell."

"You kinda do." Ahsoka made a face.

"And she says I knock stuff over," Anakin added. "That I'm c-clumsy. But I'm NOT clumsy," he retorted, not really speaking to Ahsoka anymore. "I'm a ... Jedi." He paused and pointed his finger at Ahsoka. "Her candles smell AWESOME!"

Ahsoka sighed. "I'm still not comfortable with you staying here, Sky Guy," she told him, gently but firmly.

Anakin blinked, his face suddenly alight with newfound clarity. "Wait. You're ... here, but you don't have homework?" he queried, straightening momentarily.

Ahsoka shrugged. "I had enough excitement hanging out with you lately," she retorted tiredly.

Anakin snorted into her pillow. "You had fun," he yawned.

"About as much fun as I would have in a nest of gundarks," Ahsoka snapped, but it was half-hearted at best. Her Master was out pretty much as soon as he closed his eyes, not seeming to be bothered by his apprentice's small tantrum that she interspersed with a bit of stomping around the room. Probably, he'd had lots of practice resting in almost any condition, Ahsoka thought, and grudgingly decided to leave him be. She Force-levitated a thick blanket over her Master's prone frame, then draped it on top of him. Anakin mumbled something that may have been a tendril of coherent thought or something else entirely. His face relaxed, and Ahsoka couldn't help but smile at how peaceful he looked.

"Sleep well, Master," she murmured.

* * *

Upon returning from getting fitted with her permanent Force-suppressor, Ventress proceeded to destroy as much of Obi-Wan's apartment as possible. He'd given up trying to stop her and was now just trying to duck the debris she was flinging at him. Part of him was very thankful Anakin had made himself scarce, because he knew he'd have a fistfight on his hands if the younger Jedi were here to witness this. Then again, having Anakin here might have helped at least subdue the woman a little bit. Or at least given her a target that was not his dining room table.

"You kriffing, shriveled gundark dick!" Ventress screeched as a chair hurtled towards Obi-Wan's head. "You WILL remove this stanging device RIGHT THIS SECOND!" She sounded as though she were in pain, and though Obi-Wan knew it was uncomfortable for a Force-sensitive to have a suppressor (thanks to Ventress, ironically, he thought sardonically), he had a feeling it was for show more than anything else.

"If I remove it, you'll die," he reminded her blandly, holding up a hand to redirect the furniture with the Force. He had to admit, he did it as much to rub it in that she *couldn't* as he did to actually accomplish anything. Did that make him a bad Jedi? Probably, he thought. Anakin would have relished the control he had over her, of course; Obi-Wan felt a small surge of satisfaction as he calmly juggled a potted plant and some small kitchen items that Ventress lobbed at him.

Overall, however, he was just tired of this whole ordeal. His quarters were a mess, his apprentice seemed to be avoiding him, and truth be told, he wasn't entirely certain that the Council's plan to extract information out of Ventress was going to result in anything useful. There was no guarantee that it would work; Obi-Wan doubted the slender woman would crack under physical torture, though he supposed forced co-habitation with Jedi was a close approximation for her.

His favorite teapot sailing past his head snapped Obi-Wan back to attention. "I understand you're ... upset," he grunted, releasing all of his belongings with moderate care so that he could focus on body-binding Ventress with the Force. "But there is really no point to this. I can no more remove the suppressor than I could insert it."

"Then bring me to somebody who can," Ventress snarled, eyes watering in frustration as she struggled. "Let me GO, Kenobi!" she hissed. "Let me go RIGHT now, or I'll-"

"You'll what? As you keep reminding me, you have no access to the Force," Obi-Wan shrugged, haphazardly working to conceal the satisfaction this notion brought him. "You could be overpowered by Anakin's apprentice. Easily."

"Just ... because I'm not ... attuned to the Force doesn't mean I ... can't ... destroy you," Ventress bit out, razor-sharp teeth bared.

Obi-Wan's mouth quirked. "Yes, I am well aware of that. You have already made an example of most of my cooking accoutrement."

Ventress' snickered. "I did you a favor," she informed him sharply. "Your taste in flatware is pedestrian at best." Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, and she seemed satisfied to have, at least somewhat, caught him off-guard.

"I was unaware you even used utensils," he replied calmly, urging her into the living room with a Force suggestion. "I was under the impression you merely ripped out the throat of your prey and let that be it." Satisfied that she was securely bound, Obi-Wan settled onto the now-tattered sofa. Anakin was not going to be happy, he thought with some mild concern.

"The Republic is not the be-all-end-all of civilization, you know," she informed him, managing to cross her arms over her chest. Obi-Wan allowed it, satisfied that her limbs were taking a break from hurling Obi-Wan's meager belongings at him. She stared down her nose at him: "In fact, considering some of the things people have done to get rich or re-elected in the Senate, I think 'civil' is giving it a little too much credit."

"No system is perfect," Obi-Wan conceded. He must have realized at the same moment Ventress did that they were having a rational discussion with one another; Obi-Wan coughed and looked briefly at his lap, and when his eyes met Ventress' again, she was scowling anew. "I daresay you never had much of a chance to experience the Republic for yourself as anything but an outsider," he speculated.

Ventress just glowered. "I've seen more than enough of it. At least I'm not a patsy to a corrupt system, the way the Jedi are."

Obi-Wan tilted his head. Thoughtful debate fascinated him; Anakin was rather obtuse when it came to inter-galactic affairs, and he'd been too young for many of Qui-Gon's philosophical musings on the Living Force and such - probably still was, he thought. He could sense Ventress growing surly - it had probably been a long time since someone had verbally sparred with her - but privately, he appreciated her ability to eloquently argue her point of view. Perhaps this assignment would turn around for him, after all.

"I don't think-" he began, but Ventress cut him off.

"I don't stanging care, Kenobi. YOU can sit there and pretend that I'm going to be your subservient little house-guest for as long as your esteemed Council decides that I'm useful, but don't forget that I'm still plenty capable of holding my own in a fight. Things can happen while you sleep. Remember that."

Obi-Wan sighed. The very real possibility of sleeping in shifts and essentially babysitting his arch-enemy and, well, wife had occurred to him. He'd hoped it wouldn't come to that, but if the woman was going to fight him tooth and nail every step of the way, there was little choice in the matter. He rather fancied waking up with all of his vital organs in-tact.

"And you're not going to learn anything from me," Ventress added. "I don't care that you and Skywalker are the most infuriating beings in this galaxy, I'm not going to give in." Obi-Wan was beginning to believe that, though he wondered if she realized just how infuriating Anakin could be. He'd often been able to get information they were seeking just on the merit of being himself.

"Well, then, this will be most unpleasant for all of us," Obi-Wan commented lightly, flipping on his datapad, ready to begin ignoring her. She seemed to realize his intention, and growled, flinging the holotube remote at him. He caught it easily and rolled his eyes. Unpleasant, indeed.

* * *

As soon as Anakin woke up, hungover and disoriented, Ahsoka had herded him out of her quarters. "Go away," she said. "If you want to come back, you have to be sober." Anakin thought that was entirely unfair, given his current circumstances, but he left anyway. She hadn't seemed very keen on conversation, and the liquor he'd arrived with had been mysteriously disposed of while he slept, so there hadn't been much point in staying. He didn't want to go back to the apartment, though. Not even a little bit. He felt slightly bad for leaving Obi-Wan on his own, but, after all, Obi-Wan had been the one ultimately responsible for Ventress' presence, so... screw Obi-Wan.

Still woozy, and not really up to the effort of convincing someone else to offer him sanctuary, however Anakin returned home, hoping to simply sneak in undetected. Naturally, it was not to be; Obi-Wan frowned disapprovingly at him from the sitting room, and Ventress glowered, her body rigid with what Anakin knew had to be a Force suggestion to stay put. That he was bad at hiding his amusement at this only seemed to piss Ventress off even more.

"Oh great," she said loudly, "the black nerf has returned to the roost."

"How's that Force-suppressor working for you there, Ventress?" Anakin said jovially, purposefully using his own non-severed connection to float a hard-backed chair from the dining area to join the small cavalcade of furniture. One of the legs fell off in mid-air, and Ventress snorted. Anakin rolled his eyes: "Is this the best you can do?" he mocked. "No wonder you're losing."

"Whatever helps you sleep at night." Ventress' voice was syrupy. "Never mind that I've personally killed Jedi in higher numbers than you can count."

"Maybe they gave in just so they wouldn't have to look at your face-"

"Enough, Anakin," Obi-Wan interrupted. "We haven't even a remote chance of ... working together if you continue to reduce yourself to youngling-esque quarrels."

Anakin sat back as much as the chair would allow. "She started it," he mumbled.

Obi-Wan stood up. "I am going to make tea. You will stay here with her," he told Anakin. It was not a request. Anakin was beginning to regret coming back, especially since Obi-Wan had left it up to him to maintain the Force-restraint he'd had Ventress in. Not, of course, that Anakin would have trouble with it or anything, it was just... he was tired and cranky and looking at Ventress was the last thing he wanted to be doing.

"Have fun?" Ventress asked, smirking, as Anakin surveyed the damage to the apartment, his gaze finally coming to rest on the tattered sofa. So much for getting much sleep here, he thought mournfully. Well, that was okay, he could definitely find other places to be for however long this would take. He had a wife, after all, with a perfectly nice penthouse apartment. "Bring me along next time, we could have some *real* fun." She'd pitched her voice into what Anakin assumed was supposed to be something seductive. He rolled his eyes.

"You're thermal," he replied, sitting carefully on the decimated sofa.

Ventress snorted. "Yeah, like you're firing on all thrusters, you chuff-sucking Jedi sleemo."

Anakin stared at her in amazement for a long moment. "Really?" he asked when he was sure he could speak without laughing. "*Really*?"

Ventress looked vaguely confused. "What?" she snapped in an irritated tone.

Anakin snickered. "I'm just marveling at how civilized you sound grunting at me in Huttese, that's all."

"Oh, right." Ventress picked at a thread on the mutilated couch. "You Jedi have some real backrocket ideas about what constitutes 'civilized'. I mean, considering," she sneered.

"Considering what?" Anakin asked, baited.

Ventress smirked at him. "You're hardly one to talk, Skywalker. I mean, that's what they told you on Tatooine, isn't it? Slaves are better seen and not heard, right?"

Anakin's fists, real and artificial alike, clenched. "You know nothing about my life," he said, jaw tight.

Ventress laughed. "Sure seems like I do."

"You don't," Anakin insisted, his voice somewhat more harried now. He could feel the electrodrivers in his mechanical hand whirring in protest as he clenched his fists tighter. He glanced over his shoulder towards the kitchen - surely Obi-Wan wouldn't fault him for punching her, just once.

"You're just a little slave boy who grew up into a jet-juicing, thermal, pseudo-Jedi with delusions of grandeur," Ventress taunted, smirking as she watched him struggle with his temper. "Hardly worth the trouble."

"Speaking of hardly worth the trouble," Obi-Wan said, emerging from the kitchen with a cup of tea. Anakin noticed he'd only made one, and felt a little put-out, even though he didn't particularly like tea one way or the other. "Calm down, Anakin."

Anakin wondered if Obi-Wan had been forced to listen to this all day, and if so, how he could remain so damn calm about it. Then again, it was Obi-Wan, calm personified. "Yes, Master," he grumped, head bowed slightly. He heard Ventress snort, and glared at her, brow furrowed.

"She is merely trying to antagonizing you, Anakin," Obi-Wan lectured. "It only works if you let it get to you."

"Still in the room," Ventress reminded them unnecessarily. Knowing it bothered her to be ignored, Anakin continued with his button-pushing.

"So how is this going to work?" he asked Obi-Wan, albeit while looking pointedly at Ventress. "How do we keep the Sith-wannabe subdued?"

"Funny. Patting yourself on the back for your cleverness, Skywalker?" Ventress retorted. Anakin smirked, but in fact gave himself mental props for his choice of words.

Obi-Wan heaved a sigh for what seemed like the umpteenth time that day. "As much as I would like this to be ... pleasant," he enunciated, "it seems most prudent for us to spend time with her in shifts."

"Dibs on afternoons," Anakin chimed in. He knew full well he had barely made it to his morning classes when he was a Padawan, and he wasn't about to give up his chances to sneak off to the Outlander in the evenings. The lower level dance club had been a salvation from the ornate strictness of the Jedi Order for him pretty much as soon as he discovered it was there, and had become even more of one since he'd surpassed age requirements for alcohol consumption and curfew - as opposed to simply bypassing them and hoping not to get caught anymore, of course. Babysitting Ventress would put a serious cramp on his social life, however distasteful Obi-Wan found it.

"Hmm." His former Master made a noncommittal noise, but Anakin knew he would get his way. "I suppose Ahsoka could occasionally help out."

Anakin snorted. "Yeah, kid's gotta learn to pull her weight."

Obi-Wan's expression was hard. "In all actuality, she does not really have any blame in this, Anakin."

"Yes, it seems you're capable of drinking until you soil yourself and pass out without the aid of a Padawan," Ventress noted, rejoining the conversation.

"Nobody gave you permission to speak," Anakin shot back, knowing he was being a nuisance but not really minding much. In fact, he rather liked having someone to snipe at who couldn't get him drummed out of the Order for insubordination. It might be a nice way of releasing a lot of pent-up frustration.

"Well, then, I will take evenings, and you can speak with Ahsoka to see if she would be willing to help out in the mornings," Obi-Wan said thoughtfully.

Anakin frowned slightly. "I'm not sure that would go over well coming from me right now," he said carefully, not particularly wanting to get into why his apprentice was miffed at him this time.

"Maybe if you're capable of doing more than slurring an order at her, she might take it better," Ventress suggested, and Anakin Force-shoved her into the sofa.

"Anakin!" Obi-Wan exclaimed, exasperated. He sighed and hovered over Ventress as she coughed, the shove having knocked the wind out of her momentarily. Then she let off a string of colorful slurs, and he ceased feeling all that sympathetic.

"Are we going to have to follow her around like this constantly?" Anakin said sulkily. "I mean, isn't there some sort of cage or something that we can use? Monitoring her bathroom breaks is not my idea of a good time," he affirmed.

"Like I'd let you," Ventress rasped angrily.

"Enough, enough! For kriff's sake, ENOUGH!" Obi-Wan shouted, stamping his foot. Unaccustomed to Obi-Wan throwing tantrums, Anakin was stunned into silence; Ventress, simply amused that she was getting to him, smirked. "I can't decide which one of you is worse!" Obi-Wan exclaimed. Anakin looked as if he wanted to clarify, but a steely look from his Master made him bite his tongue.

"Now," Obi-Wan said, seeming to collect himself, if not slightly embarrassed by his own outburst, "We'll just have to see what the Force gives us to work with." Anakin, personally, thought that was a complete load, but the look on his Master's face told him it would be best to keep his mouth shut.

"Well it certainly hasn't gifted either of you with much in the way of common sense," Ventress commented from the sofa, earning herself a glare from both Jedi.

"Anakin, do you think you can refrain from acting like a youngling or resorting to violence while I have a rest?" Obi-Wan asked, somewhat pleadingly.

Anakin didn't want to make any promises on either front, quite frankly. "Depends on her," he said, narrowing his eyes at Ventress, who provided him with a vulgar hand gesture.

"I am not asking you what she is doing," Obi-Wan affirmed, speaking slowly as if he were trying to coax a roomful of younglings to take a nap. "I am asking you to start acting like you deserved to be Knighted."

Ventress made a 'whooshing' sound with her mouth. "One for Kenobi," she laughed under her breath. Obi-Wan ignored her. Anakin straightened, seeming to take his Master's words to heart. For once, Obi-Wan thought sarcastically.

"I will do what I must," Anakin intoned, glaring at Ventress out of the corner of his eye. She stuck her tongue out at him in response. "But I can't help it if Baldy here doesn't want to cooperate."

"What were you Chosen for again, your witty repartee, or just the fact that you manage to make all your vital systems function without the use of a brain?" Ventress frowned, seemingly self-conscious about her lack of hair.

Anakin clenched his jaw to keep himself from snarking back - at least while Obi-Wan was standing right there. "Go rest, Master," he growled. "I'll be good." It was a lie, and everyone knew it - especially Ventress, who snorted.

Obi-Wan sighed, yet again. "Thank you," he said, and walked down the hall to his bedroom. Anakin couldn't help feeling slightly bitter that Obi-Wan had a bedroom to go to.

Once Obi-Wan was gone, Anakin sat in the armchair and flipped on the Holonet receiver. Ventress glowered at him. "That's it?" she asked. "That's what you're going to do with your time?"

Anakin shrugged. "Better than dismembering you and getting in trouble for it," he informed her. "Rogue Jedi is a far better alternative to talking to you."

Ventress snatched up the remote and changed the channel before Anakin could react. "No," she said. "We're watching 'As the Galaxy Turns'."

Anakin clenched his fists. This was going to be a long assignment.

* * *

Jenna Zan Arbor checked her wrist-chrono. It was time to check in with her employer.

Dooku's long face was weary. If he'd come to her sooner, Zan Arbor suspected she could have stalled the physical signs of his age for a good couple of decades at least; as it was, he looked like a feeble old man. And while Zan Arbor knew he was anything but, having almost single-handed control over dozens of Separatist systems and the ear of the first Sith lord in a thousand years, something about his wrinkled face and sallow eyes repulsed her.

"Madam," Dooku began, giving a short, aristocratic bow. "I trust our visit finds you well."

"Naturally." She could suck up with the best of them, but privately valued honesty and cutting to the point over small talk. "The vial was successfully handed off at the rendezvous point. That ... woman was educated thoroughly on how to handle it." A mental image of Asajj Ventress made her blanch; though impressively powerful, in a barbaric sort of way, the assassin had reminded Zan Arbor more of an oversized reptile than a humanoid.

Zan Arbor hadn't enjoyed working with the woman, but she had thoroughly enjoyed her little project. Kenobi had been a thorn in her side for years, and Skywalker... well, he was just fun to study. So much power, so little control. She wished she'd taken more time to talk with him on Vanquor, but alas, perhaps another time.

"I have not heard from Ventress since the rendezvous," Dooku informed her, and Zan Arbor couldn't help thinking that the Count sounded somewhat suspicious. Did he really believe she would be bothered to do anything to his precious protégé? Ventress had Force power, and that interested Zan Arbor, but she wasn't the scientist's subject of interest.

Zan Arbor shrugged. "We parted ways. I would assume she found her targets. She seemed... capable enough."

Dooku's expression was grim. "Ventress can certainly handle herself," he affirmed. Zan Arbor sensed that he found her vaguely distasteful as well, but it wasn't important, so long as she did her job. "Naturally, I must wait to receive confirmation of the solution's success before you receive the last half of your payment," he continued. Discussing money was very gauche, but Dooku had long become accustomed to the trickier aspects of organizing the galaxy at large. Sometimes, he knew, one had to get their hands a bit dirty to accomplish his/her goals.

Zan Arbor's face was pinched. "Merely a formality," she replied. She'd done enough business with the Separatists before to know that they were good for it, but the affirmation still made her seethe. That potion was no child's first chemistry set; it had cost a pretty penny to make, and she had no doubt that Dooku was fully aware of all this. The problem was, of course, the middle man - woman, whatever. Try as she might, Zan Arbor couldn't help worrying that Ventress might complicate this seemingly standard mission. It was but a vague feeling, likely mere paranoia, but, well, there it was.

Dooku ended the discussion shortly after promising to notify Zan Arbor whenever Ventress checked in. The word "if" hung in the air, pregnant with a million ways that everything could go wrong. Zan Arbor sat in her posh private office once the connection had been cut, contemplating her next move. Perhaps, she decided, standing with a sudden purpose, she needed to get her own middle man involved.

* * *

"I spoke with the scientist, My Lord," Dooku said with a low bow. He wished he could be free to make his own decisions regarding this mission, but Sidious had been very firm in his insistence that he be kept in the loop. He knew it was because of Skywalker's involvement - the Sith Lord was gearing up for something with the young, brash Jedi, though Dooku wasn't entirely certain what.

Sidious nodded and motioned for him to stand fully. "Good," he said from within the shadows of his cowled robe. "Good." He paused slightly. "There is a problem, however, Tyrannus."

Dooku's jaw tightened. "My Lord?" he asked, wondering what the problem could possibly be. Despite Ventress' comm silence, Dooku had every reason to believe the assignment had been completed as ordered.

"I have heard from my sources within the Temple," Sidious said smoothly, "that Ventress was not as successful as we'd hoped."

The Count's stomach dropped, and he steeled himself for Sidious to unleash his wrath. "What have you heard?" he wondered carefully.

For his part, Sidious was a shadow, a void, calm and calculating, as he always was. No sign of anger but for a slight scowl that may or may not have been in response to the situation. "Ventress has been taken into custody in the Temple," he said. Dooku began to respond - impossible! - but Sidious held up a gnarled hand. "This may work to our advantage," he continued. "They mean to extract information from her, but she is not being held as a prisoner."

"No?" Dooku asked, slightly confused.

"No," Sidious repeated. Dooku found himself leaning towards the holoprojection, unnervingly curious. "She is co-habitating with Obi-Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker," the Dark Lord explained, a dark undercurrent of amusement evident in his tone. "According to my sources, there is legal documentation that her and General Kenobi were ... married."

"MARRIED?" Dooku wondered if he was dreaming. His Master seemed to be waiting for him to read between the lines. "Oh ..." he said a moment later. "The potion ..."

"There must have been some sort of incident," Sidious smirked. He flexed his fingers. "A strange turn of events, to be sure, but the task in and of itself was accomplished - Kenobi and Skywalker are out of commission while they play house."

"Why not just lock her up?" Dooku wondered aloud. He thought back to his Jedi teachings briefly, but could not recall any involving being forced to make good on wedding vows taken under the control of mind-altering substances. Perhaps things had changed ...

Sidious' mouth was set into a full-fledged grin, now. "Whatever the reason, it works to our advantage. Initiate Phase Two of our plan, Lord Tyrannus," he ordered.

"Yes, my Lord," Dooku said automatically.

The Sith's robes shifted. "Also, make attempts to contact Ventress. She will still be a powerful ally, once she is properly rehabilitated. I've heard tell that she has been fitted with a Force-suppressor."

"Ah." Dooku focused on not shuddering visibly. Simulations of not being able to access the Force had terrified him as a Padawan. "We can only hope she does not feel connived into releasing any damaging information to our cause," he told his Master carefully.

"I think she won't," Sidious smiled. "Ascension to the Sith is her ultimate goal. She craves power. She will keep our secrets."

Dooku felt the corners of his mouth twitch. "She thinks she will earn her way into the Sith," he murmured. "As long as she believes that, she will do anything for me."

Sidious nodded approvingly. "Then see to it that she continues to believe that, Lord Tyrannus."

Dooku bowed. "Yes, Master."


	5. Chapter 5: It Takes Hold

Welcome back to Corellia! This is officially the story's halfway point. Thank you to everybody who has been following along - it has been awesome to watch people react, usually to the same things that we enjoyed so much ourselves. I do want to point out that this isn't a pairing-centric story, per se, as much as it is Obi-Wan, Anakin, etc. reacting to a situation. There isn't really an ulterior motive to ship any particular couple, but that doesn't mean there won't be people hooking up or being together, if that makes sense. Honestly, unless otherwise indicated, this is the case for most of D's and my stories. I hope it is not a deterrent for anybody!

Summary: A run-of-the-mill weekend excursion on the pleasure planet of Corellia results in consequences far more dire than Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi, and Ahsoka Tano anticipate when Obi-Wan ends up married to Asajj Ventress. Chapter Five: Anakin and Ventress grapple for supremacy, the remote control, and more beer. Written with D.

* * *

**What Happens on Corellia**

_Chapter Five: It Takes Hold_

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Anakin was fairly certain he was going to murder someone. Specifically, one Asajj Ventress, who had made herself right at home on HIS sofa, eating HIS snacks and drinking HIS beer, watching stupid holos on HIS Holonet terminal and generally making a huge nuisance of herself.

Then again, he could always murder Obi-Wan first, which would leave him free to murder Ventress without fear of reprisal. Of course, then he would have to murder Ahsoka as well, since she would undoubtedly tattle on him to the Council. And since mass homicide took a lot out of a guy (something Anakin knew from personal experience), he decided instead to pout.

That didn't make Ventress go away, unfortunately. "You're out of those chips with the ridges," she yawned as he cracked open a lukewarm beer and tried to found a portion of the tattered couch that didn't have the springs poking up. "Go get some more."

"Get them yourself," Anakin said automatically. He glared at the holotube. "This show is stupid," he said after a moment of watching some schmaltzy soap opera play out.

"You're stupid," Ventress retorted, spraying bits of snack food at him. Anakin shook his head until the sofa was covered in granules of chips and nuts. He shrugged. Obi-Wan was too neat for his own good.

Speaking of which; "Did Obi-Wan give you permission to sit in his chair?" Anakin asked. In point of fact, he used it all the time when his Master was gone, even finding it to have just the right leverage for pleasuring himself, and he didn't feel all that bad about the fact that he never cleaned it off, either. Still, seeing Ventress thrown across the arms, boots scuffing at the worn fabric seemed wrong. At least Anakin pretended to respect Obi-Wan's favorite piece of furniture.

Ventress bared her teeth. "What's his is mine now, Skywalker," she sneered. "Which I guess makes you mine, too. So go get more chips." Anakin couldn't help noticing that she had some food stuck in her pointed teeth, but decided to keep it to himself.

"Nope," he replied. "That would mean leaving you alone and," he finished off his beer, "I'm about done with getting in trouble over you." He could find plenty of things to get in trouble over that didn't involve Ventress, after all. Much more fun things. He hoped Obi-Wan got back early for his evening shift; sitting around the Temple was making him antsy, and Ahsoka had been pointedly avoiding him since he'd informed her of her duty to perform morning-time Ventress-watching services.

Ventress frowned at him, glaring as though she thought she still had the Force and could set him on fire if she thought hard enough about it. "Well, then, go get me some ice cream," she ordered.

"No. It's in the freezer, you can get it yourself." Although ice cream sounded like a pretty good idea, and as far as he knew, there was more beer in the cooling unit. Maybe he could make an exception to his 'don't wait on Ventress hand and foot' policy, just this once. Extending a hand, he palmed open the cooling unit with the Force, and appropriated items onto the low-slung table in the sitting area. It took a while, but eventually cold beer and ice cream accoutrement had been made available.

"You're getting it on my magazine!" Ventress barked at him as he scooped ice cream from the container with his robotic hand. Anakin glanced down, only to see his own face staring back at him, albeit largely obscured by a glob of chocolate fudge swirl. Ventress snatched it away, growling at him.

"You read articles about me and Obi-Wan?" he laughed incredulously. He recognized the title from the Healers' ward waiting area - Ventress must have swiped it and brought it back with her.

Ventress snarled. "I like to keep up on my enemy's affairs," she said snootily, but looked vaguely embarrassed like the time Obi-Wan had walked into Anakin's room while he'd been right in the middle of a mutual jerking off session with Ferus Olin. She watched Anakin abandon scooping duties and made an annoyed sound in the back of her throat: "You're really not going to give me any, even though it's right here?"

"You have two hands," Anakin shrugged, making a show of slurping at his own bowl.

"And you don't."

Anakin made a rude gesture. "Not doing a great job of convincing me to do you any favors, just for your information."

"You already floated a second bowl out here, what more of an effort is it?" Ventress snapped.

"Hey," Anakin said, "Maybe I brought that bowl out here just for me. Or maybe I'm just tired of Obi-Wan yelling at me because you keep breaking his dishes."

Ventress snickered. "They're ugly bowls, anyway," she informed him. "I'm doing you both a favor." Anakin frowned and inspected the plain ceramic bowl he was holding. It didn't seem too bad to him, but then again, if it held food, he didn't really see why it needed to be pretty.

Anakin made a show of licking the ice cream off his metal fingers, then stuck his hand in the carton again, scooping out a large handful and depositing it in the second bowl. He floated it over to Ventress, who stared at it in disgust as it hovered in front of her. "You're disgusting," she informed him. "I don't want whatever diseases you're carrying around." She swiped at the bowl, sending it flying across the room to splatter against the wall.

Anakin watched as chocolate ice cream pooled on the beige carpet. "I don't have any diseases," he replied, deciding he wasn't going to bother cleaning up the mess. It wasn't his fault she'd had a mini-tantrum.

"This magazine says otherwise," Ventress smirked, waving the offending publication at him.

"What!" Anakin reached over and snatched it from her hand. His brow furrowed as he scanned an article interspersed heavily with bold captions and obviously doctored photos. "It does not," he retorted after a pregnant pause, privately glad that the tabloids weren't turning away would-be admirers with pronouncements of his contracting Gungan herpes or something.

"Made you look," Ventress cackled. She poked at the remaining container of ice cream and, eventually deciding the Temple Healers would likely know how to cure space crabs, slid a spoonful into her mouth.

Anakin paged through the gossip rag. "Most of this is utter garbage," he muttered, but felt himself being drawn in by the awful photomanips and captions that screamed, "IS GENERAL KENOBI GAY? FIVE PIECES OF EVIDENCE THAT SAY 'YES!'" in neon-colored text. "No wonder it's so popular," he continued. "It's all lies."

"Mmm," Ventress seemed to agree. She swallowed her mouthful of ice cream. "Except the part about Obi-Wan being a fruit."

Anakin shrugged. He wasn't going to let Ventress pull him into an argument about what he and his Master did together in their pockets of spare time.

But Ventress was a seasoned shit-stirrer. "So how is he, Skywalker?" she taunted, eyes narrowing into mean-spirited slits. "Rough or gentle? Does he like it when you pull his hair? Does he ever let you top?"

"Hey, I'm an eternal top," Anakin shot back before he could help himself.

Ventress snorted ice cream all over the chair. "I'm so sure, slag," she laughed. "Slave mentality doesn't go away. Do you let him tie you up?" She snatched the magazine back and flipped through the pages, propping it up so Anakin could see a badly-manipulated photo of himself in bondage gear. "Like this?"

Anakin couldn't help thinking that at least most of the pics of him were flattering, despite the lack of truth to the majority of them. "I'll let you fantasize all you want," he replied. "Getting all hot and bothered, Ventress?" He smirked. "Just let me know if you're gonna start fingering yourself so I can go in the other room." He grabbed a beer and shook his head at the horrific mental image his words had conjured.

"I'd bet you'd watch," Ventress shot back. "Pervert."

"Harpy," Anakin replied with an exaggerated yawn.

Ventress' expression was wicked. "You've already got one foot on the Dark Side," she said observantly. "I'm sure that that sort of thing gets you off."

"Oh yeah, you've got me," Anakin exclaimed, feigning shock. "I totally think about you charging up your loading ramp while I'm calibrating my deece." He bent back a page of tabloid in which he and his Master had both been manipulated into a rather compromising position. "Need some privacy?" he snorted.

Ventress shoveled a few bites of ice cream into her mouth, trying to keep it from melting. "Sure," she deadpanned. "Just leave me alone for a while and I'll go to it."

"Nice try," Anakin said, rolling his eyes. The two lapsed into silence, Anakin's eyes idling on the holotube screen. "So what, the stupid little doll is alive?"

"Maybe," Ventress shrugged. "Or maybe the witch character is just crazy. It's a constant dispute between fans."

Anakin busted up laughing. "You follow this crap enough to know what its fans think?"

"I suppose Fake Jedi is any better?" Ventress retorted.

Anakin raised an eyebrow. "It's ROGUE Jedi. And it's awesome."

Ventress rolled her eyes. "The last few seasons have been total bantha hork," she informed him. "Like the writers know *anything* about the Sith." She leaned her elbows on her knees so she could see the screen better. "This is much better."

"Yeah, like you're an expert on the subject," Anakin replied. "What with not even being allowed in the club and all. Must hurt to be on the outside, huh?" He couldn't help feeling a little smug about that. He was an outsider to the Jedi, but at least it was because he was the Chosen One, rather than just a lackey.

"Your taste in entertainment is bad and you should feel bad," Ventress responded, reaching for a beer. Anakin put his foot in front of her hand. "Move."

"These are mine," he told her firmly. "You're just going to have to get your own." He moved the box away from her with his leg.

"I'm sure Kenobi will be thrilled to find you passed out on that ugly-ass sofa when he gets back." Ventress half-stood and reached over his leg to retrieve a bottle for herself. "Then again, he's probably used to it."

Anakin didn't reply, merely flipped her off and went back to his ice cream.

Ventress took a swig. "Ugh. Your taste in EVERYTHING is bad. What is this, piss?"

"Hey," Anakin frowned, "it's cheap."

"No kriff," Ventress retorted, but downed more than half of her bottle with another couple of gulps. "You're almost out. Buy some more," she told him.

Anakin's eyebrow quirked. "Did you miss the part where I don't have to do anything you say?"

Ventress blinked. "And did you miss the part where your Master and I are married?"

"So?"

"So you're his apprentice, and that basically makes me your stepmother."

Anakin barked a laugh. "I'd rather kiss a rancor." He WAS almost out of beer, however, he thought to himself. He really didn't want to have a trip to the store later keep him from partying at the Outlander, puking his guts out and then going to bed, either.

Ventress, for once, seemed to be on the same wavelength. "Why don't you get the orange girl to buy some more? I'm sure they'd sell it to her if they knew whose gullet it was going into."

Anakin scoffed. "I'll tell you why not, because Ahsoka isn't my personal slave, that's why not."

"Hmm," Ventress said. They stared at each other for a long moment. Finally, Anakin scrabbled for his commlink. Ventress listened boredly to the one-sided conversation, peppered with "c'mon, Snips", some flattery, eventual bribery - "look, 15 credits and that's my final offer ... because the beer costs more than that! I know, I KNOW, Snips, I KNOW. Okay. Okay, bye."

"Trouble in paradise?" Ventress sneered. She reached for the nearly-depleted box again, but Anakin shoved his foot into it.

"Got any credits?"

"Karking rocketjock," the assassin muttered, but shoved her hands into a hidden pocket and produced some currency nonetheless.

* * *

It took another hour, but eventually there was a knock at the door. Ventress waited for Skywalker to stop shouting at the holoshow to answer it, but he didn't. Stupid Jedi thought he was good at Million Credit Pyramid, but Ventress knew he wasn't. "It wasn't right the first thirty times you said it, what makes you think it's going to be right the next ten times?" she asked, rising from the chair and pulling open the door.

The little orange Togruta stood on the other side, looking very unhappy, thrown off-balance by the two twenty-four packs of beer she held, one in each hand. "Here's your kriffing beer," she snapped, throwing it down at Ventress' feet.

"Temper, temper, Snips," Anakin called, finally getting off the sofa and coming to the door. Ventress glowered and stepped aside, claiming one of the boxes for herself as she did so. The Jedi shoved a wad of credits into his apprentice's outstretched hand. "Thanks, popsicle," he said with a lopsided grin.

"Rrrr," Ahsoka made an irritated noise. "This is a one-time thing, Master. Please don't ask me to do it again."

"What are you complaining for, you got paid," Ventress grumped, slamming the door in Ahsoka's face and effectively missing whatever comeback the Padawan had fired at her.

Anakin hefted 'his' cube of beer over his shoulder. "Shouldn't do that," he called, walking back to the sitting area, claiming Obi-Wan's chair for himself this time. "She gets testy."

"Like I care."

"You will when she's your link to alcohol," Anakin shrugged. He watched with lazy amusement as Ventress realized he'd taken 'her' seat, and then looked with disdain at the decrepit couch.

"You're in my spot," she glowered.

Anakin smirked and gestured at the sofa. "By all means."

"I'm not going to sit on that," Ventress said flatly, hands on her hips. "It has springs poking out everywhere."

"Yeah, I've had one up my ass for the past hour," Anakin agreed.

Ventress snickered. "That's nothing out of the ordinary for the Chosen Rimmer."

Anakin shrugged and turned up the volume on the game show he'd been engrossed in. "A gay joke. How original."

"If the boot fits."

"Do you mind? I'm trying to watch this," Anakin said, looking put-upon for Ventress' benefit. He watched her out of the corner of his eye as she gingerly sat down on the cushion furthest from him, jumping when her hand accidentally rested atop a coiled spring protruding from one of the many tears in the couch. "Why is the couch so disgusting?" she groused, inspecting her hand.

"Well, I seem to recall someone with anger management issues destroying it, so it's nobody's fault but yours," Anakin pointed out, cracking into the new case. "Oohh, Trivia Fun-Time Hour!" he exclaimed, pointing at the holoterminal. "I'm wizard at this."

Ventress rolled her eyes. She was quickly discovering that there were a lot of things Skywalker *thought* he was good at. Really, he sucked at pretty much everything he'd attempted that day, besides persuading his apprentice to buy them beer. And even then, it had been her credits.

She couldn't believe she was almost looking forward to Kenobi's shift. She was fairly certain he wouldn't try to make her eat food that he'd touched with unwashed hands, at the very least.

Sure enough, Obi-Wan was prompt, likely borne from years of having to cover for his irresponsible apprentice. "Hi Master, bye Master," Anakin said, hurrying out the door before the older man could even get his bearings. Ventress watched him survey the mess: cans and bottles littered the immediate area, food spots splashing the rug with color. Obi-Wan didn't even want to see the kitchen or bathroom (Anakin was notorious for getting water everywhere).

"I don't suppose you're going to help me clean this up," he sighed, his eyes coming to rest on Ventress, who had triumphantly reclaimed the chair.

"Not on your life," she replied swiftly.

Obi-Wan nodded. "Right, then." He set to work straightening up the apartment, picking up debris around Ventress, who jacked up the holotube volume some more and looked put-upon whenever Obi-Wan's squat frame made her crane her neck to see the screen. "Please inform Anakin that this is his job during his shift," he called as he headed into the kitchen.

Ventress ignored him. However, once the Jedi had disappeared, his back fully turned, she saw her chance. Skulking to the front door, she tugged it open and grinned, the anticipation of freedom omnipresent. She risked a quick glance back at Obi-Wan - still occupied - stepped outside with one sleekly booted foot, ... and screamed in pain as thousands of daggers pierced her heart.

Or at least, that's what it felt like, anyways. "Your Force-suppressor is equipped with the same sort of technology utilized for agricultural beasts," Obi-Wan's voice called - he had anticipated that she would try something like this, Ventress thought, infuriated. "It knows where you are supposed to stay."

"These devices are also used to keep slaves obedient and in their place," Ventress snarled, hauling herself to her feet and fully inside the relative sanctity of the apartment. She saw Obi-Wan wince, but quickly recover. "I'm sure the irony isn't lost on you, Kenobi."

"Nor I, you," Obi-Wan responded, his tone meted. "It was not my choice to keep you under such tight control, Asajj," he continued. Ventress glanced up, surprised at the use of her first name. "I would much prefer otherwise. But the Council does not wish to take any chances." He turned to walk away again, and Ventress stared after him, inordinately angry that he was not leaving the conversation on her terms.

"Yes, well, this place still smells like farts," she snapped. At least Skywalker was easy to get a rise out of, as unpleasant and stupid as he was otherwise. Kenobi was too calm, too collected, too blasé about the whole situation. It made her furious. She upended the coffee table with her foot.

Obi-Wan turned back towards her. "I just got Anakin out of the habit of doing that, I'll thank you not to as well," he said evenly, righting the table with the Force. Ventress glowered at him. How dare they treat her like a common slag, a servant, a piece of property! She decided not to think about how it was fitting, given the way she had treated Kenobi in the not-too-distant past, but still, the thought rankled her.

"Get carried away in the throes of passion, do you, Kenobi?" she taunted. It had worked on Skywalker, the insinuations, after all. May as well try them on Kenobi as well.

But Obi-Wan just blinked at her tiredly. "As I said, when you're quite done acting like my wayward apprentice, do let me know." He strode off, leaving Ventress to brood.

* * *

The Outlander was booming like always, strobe lights illuminating the dance floor and, combined with the constant outpouring of music, or something like it, from the club's sound system, creating something of a dizzying effect. Usually, Anakin thrived in this sort of place. Tonight, however, he just felt ... guilty. Guilty, and vaguely bored, like Corellia had tainted his appreciation for all dance clubs. Neither notion kept him from putting away a few drinks, of course, but not nearly as many as he was used to consuming, and minus the buzz that usually went hand-in-hand with them.

He left a good couple of hours earlier than usual, debating whether to call for a speeder to drive him back to the Temple, or hang out in one of the Orange District's divier places of establishment. The air was brisk as he strode around downtown Coruscant; eventually, he came to a familiar building. Stomach growling, he realized suddenly that he hadn't eaten anything substantial all day, and palmed open the door.

Used to late-night drifters, Dex's demeanor was nonetheless warm and pleasant to Anakin. "Well, if it ain't the tadpole!" he beamed. "All grown up now, though, aren'tcha?" Anakin grinned; he'd always been surprised that Obi-Wan was close to Dex - he'd always seemed like the type of creature that Qui-Gon would have befriended. Still, he'd always felt welcomed here, and the food was delicious even when he wasn't hammered. "Hey Dex," he greeted with a smile, sliding into a booth. The hulking proprietor struggled to squeeze himself into the bench opposite him, grinning.

"So, what's new?" Dex asked. "You an' Obi-Wan were on the holonet the other night, not that I listen to any of that propaganda, o'course." Anakin winced slightly - Dex was fairly apolitical, but he made his disdain of the war pretty well known. Luckily, he never pressed the matter, so Anakin never had to argue about whether or not the Republic was doing the right thing, as he often did.

"'Course not," he replied with a smirk, then sighed. "We're kind of on a mission here for a while," he allowed, unsure of how much he should reveal, but really wanting to unload his frustrations. He knew Obi-Wan trusted Dex, and he did too, really. "And I really need a place to lay low for a while."

Dex chuckled. "In trouble again?" he wondered. "Well, if you want to try your hand in the kitchen I could letcha stay."

Anakin wrinkled his nose and laughed. "I really don't think you want to let me do that," he admitted. "The last couple of times I've cooked for Obi-Wan, he begs me not to ever again."

Dex laughed heartily. "Well then, I s'pose we'd have ya be a delivery boy or somethin'." He signaled to one of the restaurant's serving droids. "Some sliders, I take it?"

Anakin nodded. He'd first had sliders as Obi-Wan's fresh-faced new Padawan, and they'd been one of his favorite foods ever since. "So what's Obi-Wan up to these days?" Dex continued. "Or is that part o' the mission?"

"Uh, well ..." Anakin trailed off, trying to figure out where to start. Finally, he decided just to tell Dex the truth: "He, er, got married the other day."

"WHAT?" Dex boomed, his mouth dropping open. He stared hard at Anakin. "You're not pullin' my leg, are ya, Tadpole?" he said after a long moment.

Anakin shook his head. "I'm afraid not." The serving droid handed him a complimentary glass of water, and he took a long sip. "We went to Corellia, and it just ... kind of happened," he finished.

Dex shook his head. "That musta been a real carbon flush. Marriage is pretty frowned upon by the Jedi, ain't it?"

Anakin nodded. "The Council wasn't pleased," he laughed.

Dex snorted. "I'll bet. But I never woulda taken Obi-Wan as the marryin' type. Even if it were allowed."

Anakin purposely took another sip of water, stalling. He wasn't sure how much to tell Dex beyond what he already knew. "It just sort of happened," he repeated after a long moment.

Dex snorted. "I'll bet," he said. "So who's the lucky lady?"

Anakin winced, suddenly glad he was as sober as he was. Intoxicated honesty was probably not the best policy when being grilled like this. "Nobody you'd know," he said carefully. "It's a long story."

"I like long stories," Dex replied. "Got a few of 'em myself, and they're always the most interesting ones." He waggled his eyebrows, and Anakin couldn't help chuckling.

"No," he said, "this is one story you're going to have to get out of Obi-Wan himself." There, put the responsibility on his old Master to tell whoever asked what had really happened.

The droid appeared with his sliders then, effectively rescuing Anakin from Dex's questioning. "That I will, Tadpole," Dex promised. He patted Anakin on the shoulder with a hefty hand, making him wince a little. "Gotta go get some dishes goin'," he said, and pointed at the sizzling plate that the serving droid had left behind. "Enjoy your dinner."

"Thanks, Dex," Anakin grinned, and dug in, the comfort food a soothing balm for all that had happened in the past few days. Engrossed, his senses dampened by what he'd put away earlier at the Outlander, he didn't notice the cloaked figure hunkered down in a booth on the other side of the diner, shooting glances at him from beneath a dark hood.

"Hello again, Anakin," the being murmured in a low voice. Letting out a smooth, satisfied chuckle, Granta Omega curled his fingers in the folds of his garment and sat back, drinking in the scene from the relative privacy of the shadows.


	6. Chapter 6: Being's Believing

Whoa, is it that time again already? This chapter was one of D's and my favorites to write. (The others are 9 and 10, natch.) I don't know that that will affect anybody else's enjoyment or anything, but the interactions in this portion are some of the highlights of the story for us. Also, for the curious, there is a soundtrack/fanmix available for this story at my LiveJournal; username is "citizenjess". Click on the "Memories" link from the user info, and then navigate to "What Happens in Corellia". The tracks and album cover(s) are available for download in a .zip file. As always, we are gratified to know what you think of it, as well as the continuing story. Thank you for reading!

Summary: A run-of-the-mill weekend excursion on the pleasure planet of Corellia results in consequences far more dire than Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi, and Ahsoka Tano anticipate when Obi-Wan ends up married to Asajj Ventress. Chapter Six: Anakin does his best to make himself scarce and/or wanted at every turn. Please note: This chapter is rated R; there is some salty material involving Ventress contained herein.

* * *

**What Happens on Corellia**

_Chapter Six: Being's Believing_

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Obi-Wan was not happy. Not only was the apartment a complete mess, not only was Ventress beginning to test the tenants of Jedi restraint he'd had drilled into him since infancy, not only did Anakin seem determined to shirk any and all of his responsibilities regarding their dubious assignment that didn't involve spending his afternoon shifts making a mess and watching the holonet, but now he and Ventress had to report to the Council to discuss their ... arrangement.

"So, what have you learned?" Windu asked, steepling his fingers and leaning back in his chair. He sounded, Obi-Wan thought, far too smug for someone who was supposed to be upholding the Jedi Code. Beside him, Master Yoda sat, brushing the fur of a small bantha toy with his stubby claws and cooing. He appeared not to be paying attention one way or the other to the going-ons in the room, but Obi-Wan knew not to assume such a thing.

"Nothing," Ventress hissed. "I have told him nothing."

Windu smirked. "Have our accommodations not been acceptable?" he asked. Ventress just snarled. Windu turned to Obi-Wan. "How about you?"

Obi-Wan stepped forward. "Master, I beseech you to reconsider the Council's mandate to have Ventress housed in the Temple. I do not feel it is going to result in anything worthwhile, and in the meantime, it is utilizing resources that are already stretched thin due to the war." Namely, my sanity, he thought, but did not voice it aloud.

Master Windu's face was annoyingly calm. Obi-Wan could begin to understand Anakin's frustration at not getting a rise out of him - Master Windu was ridiculously good at schooling his expression to give away nothing. He lapsed into silence, however, and Obi-Wan began to suspect that the darker man was intentionally ignoring his pleas (perhaps he'd come off a tad whiny), when Windu finally spoke.

"Let me tell you something, Obi-Wan," he began; Ventress, sensing the power struggle in the room, seemed to be enjoying herself. "I've been on this Council for 25 years," Windu continued. "It's no drunken weekend on Corellia." At this, Obi-Wan winced.

"It really kriffing blows," the Jedi Master said. "I wonder why I do it. I'm constantly juggling the demands of a bunch of two-faced politicians and sniveling Padawans. Sometimes, I think I'd rather be anywhere but here," he confided. "Sometimes, I look at Master Yoda, and I want to set him on fire. But I can't, because I'm pretty sure there's something against it in the Code."

"Against it, there is," Yoda murmured absently, still cuddling the bantha figurine.

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow but decided to let Windu continue, which the other man did, unabashedly. "Sometimes I think the Dark Side might be preferable to what happens here," he said, "but do you know why I don't just say 'fuck it, take care of your damn selves'?"

Obi-Wan just shook his head, unsure of how to respond. "Because," Windu intoned, "I made a promise to uphold the tenets of the Order and to serve the Force, just as *you* made a promise when you married that, that..." He waved his hand at Ventress. "You also took the same oath I did, which means you will work to protect the Republic at any cost. Even if it means sharing your space with..." He waved his hand at Ventress again.

"But Master..." Obi-Wan choked out a protest, hoping he wasn't going to get his head lopped off for it. Then again, that might be preferable to spending another day with Ventress.

"Spoken, the Council has," Yoda said with a sage nod. "Remain the arrangement will, until information you gain. Brilliant idea of mine, this was." He held up the miniature bantha at eye level and chucked it under the chin. "Now, to the cafeteria, we go. Some donuts, Steve would like."

Windu dropped his head into his hands and sighed.

* * *

Anakin was annoyed. Life in the Temple, usually simply an irritation had become barely tolerable. Obi-Wan, stressed out by increasing lack of progress on the Ventress front had taken to muttering and shooting Anakin dirty looks whenever their paths crossed (too often for Anakin's tastes), as if it were someone else's fault that he was married to a wannabe-Sith.

Ventress, for her part, seemed to go out of her way to be as unhelpful and destructive as possible. Even if Anakin DID feel some responsibility for ensuring that the shared living space wasn't a hole, Ventress' knack for throwing things on the ground when she forgot-and-remembered-again that she could not simply use the Force to perform simple tasks and punished Obi-Wan's can opener for it made him feel stubbornly inculpable. Unfortunately, it meant that the apartment simply grew increasingly messier, Obi-Wan's attempts to straighten up here and there fewer and further between.

Sensing the futility of trying to mend the situation, Anakin had taken to escapism, finding any and every excuse to stay away for as long as possible - usually only until the third or fourth angry commlink message to hightail it back to the Temple because it was his turn to watch Ventress. He'd tried appealing to his apprentice to let him lay low in the Padawan dorms - unfortunately, Obi-Wan's bad attitude seemed to have an adverse effect on everyone he came into contact with. Short of shutting the door in his face, Ahsoka had told her Master, in no uncertain terms, that he was not welcome.

Fortunately, Anakin had a Plan B.

500 Republica was an imposing building. Not the same kind of astute, morally opposing ziggurat-style imposing of the Temple, nor the ugly-but-functional imposing of the Senate building. No, 500 Republica was imposing in a way only extreme wealth could be. But, if Anakin were to be honest with himself, there was really no place he was more comfortable. Because 500 Republica was the home of the woman he loved more than life itself, the woman who gave him a reason for being, a woman who let him see her breasts on a fairly regular basis.

Padme Amidala's penthouse apartment took up the top floor of the ostentatious building, and was one of Anakin's favorite places in the galaxy. Not just because of the plush carpeting and concierge service, but also because he tended to get laid there more than anywhere else, with the possible exception of the back room of the Outlander. Being that he technically had just as much of a right to be there as she did, married-in-secret as they were, Anakin had a key to the place, which he used with a roguish smirk. Soon he'd be having sex with someone whose name he would remember afterwards, and who didn't potentially carry Gungan herpes. And who let him touch her boobs. That part was pretty important.

Padme met him in the foyer, a surprised expression on her face. "Ani!" she exclaimed, looking mildly concerned. Anakin wasn't sure why; he'd gone through a lot of effort to make sure he wasn't seen going into the building or up to her apartment, not that it mattered since Palpatine lived at 500 Republica too and often asked Anakin to come to his private apartments, so his presence could have been very easily explained away. Padme was often quite paranoid.

"Hey, Angel," he greeted with a wide grin. At last, some peace. At last, someone he could openly complain to about this whole messy situation without fear of Jedi platitudes or lectures. Someone he could complain to while touching her girl-parts. "Happy to see me?" She didn't seem overly happy to see him, which was slightly confusing. In fact, she seemed downright perturbed by his presence. Not to be deterred, Anakin enveloped her in a hug. "I've missed you so much, Padme," he whispered into her thick, dark hair, done up in an intricate style that was trademark of Naboo culture.

Padme struggled a little. "Ani, no-" she began.

He eased off her a bit, resting his forehead against hers. "It's okay, muffin pants, nobody saw me come up."

"That's not it," Padme insisted, but Anakin silenced her momentarily with a messy kiss. "Mmmph! Ani, listen to me, okay, it's not - you can't BE here right now."

"Why not?" he asked, fondling her breasts.

"Hi, Master!" Oh, *kriff*.

"Ahsoka? What are you doing here?" Anakin's voice was gruff with disappointment and pent-up tension of every kind as he reluctantly pulled apart from his wife. His wife, who was apparently entertaining his Padawan. Padme didn't have time for him, but she had time for tea parties with his 14-year-old apprentice? he thought angrily.

Ahsoka, perched on Padme's overstuffed love seat, gave a small wave. "Senator Amidala and I were just talking about you," she chirped, and Anakin suspected she 'saw' more than she would probably admit to him. Also, she seemed to be enjoying his discomfort, if the vague smirk playing at the corners of her mouth were any indication.

"I see," he said, his voice carefully measured. He glanced back at Padme, looking somewhere between perturbed and guilty.

His wife nodded, her face settling into what Anakin disdainfully thought of as her "politician expression". "You didn't tell me your apprentice was so charming," she said, somewhat accusingly, as though it were Anakin's fault he didn't have time to report every single little thing Ahsoka said or did. Besides, Padme didn't know her very well - charming was not a word Anakin would use to describe his Padawan.

"Hmph," Anakin replied noncommittally, glaring intently at Ahsoka. "So... what were you saying about me, Snips?" he asked after a moment, trying to gauge whether he'd be getting any sex at all, or if he was destined to sleep on sofas forever. At least, he thought ruefully, Padme's sofa was at least slightly more comfortable than his own.

Padme gave him a critical look. "She was just telling me about some of your more recent... adventures," she informed him, and Anakin felt mildly nauseous. The only thing worse than an Obi-Wan guilt trip was a Padme guilt-trip, and his wife was far less used to his indiscretions than his former Master or current apprentice were.

"Ah," he said carefully, trying to glean more information about exactly which "adventures" Ahsoka had been referring to. "Well, you know me," he added. "Adventure, excitement, and so on." He raised an eyebrow in Ahsoka's direction and she just shrugged innocently.

"Uh huh," Padme responded, crossing her arms over her chest. It gave Anakin a Very Bad Feeling. Still, he tried half-heartedly to assert his innocence, not entirely sure which of Ahsoka's stories had put Padme on edge.

"So yeah, I'm just so happy to be away from Ventress for a while!" he said with forced joviality. He hoped to earn some sympathy from Ahsoka, but his Padawan wasn't biting. Sighing, he fished around in his pocket for some spare change. "Here, Snips," he beckoned.

Ahsoka raised an eyebrow. "I already told you, Master, I don't think it's appropriate to make your apprentice go on beer runs for you."

Padme mimicked her expression. "I don't either, Ani," she said dubiously.

Anakin gritted his teeth, resisting the urge to chuck something at Ahsoka's tense head-tails. "I'm not asking you to," he frowned. "I'm giving you this to pay you back for running that little errand for me."

"Oh," Ahsoka said blandly. She waited until Anakin walked over and deposited it into her hand, then nodded. "Thank you, Master. That was very thoughtful of you." Her voice was tinged with placating undertones, and Anakin grew even more irritated, sensing the role-reversal. It didn't help that Padme had to muffle a giggle to refrain from out-and-out laughing at him.

"Yeah, so, anyway, I thought I would hang out here for a while," he said, gritting his teeth as Padme covered her amusement with a light cough. He settled onto the sofa beside Ahsoka and propped his feet up on the coffee table.

Padme walked over and pushed his boots off her table with her own foot. "No, Ani," she scolded, and for a moment Anakin wondered why he had ever thought getting married had been a good idea. "Today isn't a good day for that, I'm sorry."

Anakin narrowed his eyes. He took time out of his busy schedule to be with her; why couldn't she do the same for him? Then again, his busy schedule as of late had consisted of drinking beer and watching holonet soap operas, but still. "But Ahsoka's here!" he replied, very close to whining.

"Ahsoka asked to accompany me to my Senate meeting," Padme informed him, somewhat coolly, "and we still have to get ready." She put a hand on his shoulder. "Why don't you go out with your friends, Ani?"

Anakin was about to grump that he didn't have any friends, but that wasn't entirely true, and he doubted either Padme or Ahsoka would be impressed with a continuing juvenile display. He took a deep breath. He'd always been crap at meditation; it was a fact that consistently disappointed his Master, but Anakin had never particularly cared one way or the other. There had to be some use for all of the emotion the Order always tried to siphon out of him, after all. And yet, sometimes he wished he were able to release his anger more fluidly; it would make minor annoyances, such as feeling like everybody was against him, a lot more pleasant.

He stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, feeling abjectly like he'd worn out his welcome. "I just remembered," he said, making up the lie as he went along, "I'm s'posed to meet up with one of my age-mates for lunch. He just got back from a mission." That sounded like something people with friends would do, he thought, pleased with himself.

Padme seemed all too happy to be getting rid of him. "Have fun with that, Ani," she beamed at him. Ahsoka made a noise of agreement, already preoccupied with something else. Padme ushered him to the door, where they stood staring at one another for a long minute. Would it kill her to show a little more enthusiasm? his inner-monologue groused.

He pitched his voice low so that Ahsoka wouldn't hear. "So how about a good-bye ki-"

"Bye, Ani!" And that's how Anakin found himself making out with Padme's door.

* * *

Ventress shifted as pleasant warmth spread throughout her body. The night had been frantic and now that they had time to enjoy it, away from prying eyes, she found she could hardly hold in her desire any longer. It was like a living thing, curling within her and urging her to let go, to give in.

She did. Obi-Wan looked at her in mild amusement as she tore off his tunic and raked her nails down his chest. The man was infuriating, but also undeniably attractive, and Ventress knew she had to possess him in this way. "Closer," she rasped in his ear as his sturdy frame pressed neatly against hers. "I need you, aaahh, closer."

Obi-Wan rose above her enough to cup and play with her breasts through her dress. It was a complicatedly arranged garment, but he removed it easily enough, taking care to Force-float it over the back of a piece of hotel room furniture. "Calm," he half-ordered, but his erratic breathing betrayed the suggested demeanor. "Asajj ..." he shivered as she tugged his face towards hers and licked the shell of his ear.

"Mine," she told him triumphantly. Her eyes blazed as she stared at his face, at the corners of his mouth twitching. Her own hold on the Force somewhat unsteady, she sent a mental suggestion to him that led to a spate of frenzied kissing, and hair-pulling, on her part. In retaliation, Obi-Wan reached down and tugged at her nipples, puckered with arousal. "Kriff," she swore. She tried to do him one in kind, but he collected her wrists with one hand, pinning them almost lazily above her head.

"Ha," he smirked. "Now you are mine, as well."

She writhed beneath him and his mouth dipped down again towards her breasts, his free hand sliding down the length of her body, slipping between her thighs. She moaned as he began moving his fingers in a circular motion within her, his mouth moving to one nipple, then the other, then back again. "Kenobi..." she grunted, and he silenced her with a kiss.

Ventress arched her back languidly, rotating her hips to match his rhythm. "Need you..." she groaned, thrusting upwards. Something in the back of her mind told her this wasn't right, but she didn't care. Nothing else mattered. Nothing but the feel of his scruff against her face, the delicious, slow agony of his surprisingly soft, manicured(?) hands, carefully stretching and teasing her, and the sheer fact that this was Kenobi, of all people.

"Fuck me," she hissed as their mouths met for another searing kiss. Obi-Wan, looking a tad shocked albeit pleased, smiled at her, rose to position himself to penetrate her-

"NO!" Ventress shouted, bolting upright. She wiped at the light sheen of sweat that glistened on her forehead, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. Having spent several nights glowering at the holotube and foregoing sleep, she had finally succumbed to much-needed rest, taking over Skywalker's hovel. She wrinkled her nose at the faint smell of Anakin that encompassed her in the borrowed sheets. She rarely slept these days, let alone dreamed, though it was not difficult imagine where the fodder for this latest abomination had come from. Her and Kenobi HAD knocked boots on Corellia, after all.

A sudden realization came to mind. Ventress held up her left hand, frowning at the small piece of metal gleaming around her ring finger. For some reason, she'd forgotten to take the thing off. Now, of course, the ring only served as a further reminder of how ... out of control she'd been. It disgusted her. Tearing it off, Ventress threw the covers off with a snarl, stomping towards the kitchen.

Spotting her objective, she strode over to the garbage disposal and cranked it on, along with the cold water spigot, then dropped the offending jewelry down the hatch. The disposal made a clunky whirring sound, its motors grinding, and then stopped completely. Ventress hit the 'off' switch just as Obi-Wan made his way into the room, likely wondering at the commotion.

"You're awake," he said blandly, and that was when Ventress realized that she'd stripped off a good portion of her outfit - Skywalker kept his room like a kriffing furnace.

"Of course I'm awake," she snarled, deciding to own up to the fact she was half-naked. Even without the Force, she could destroy Kenobi if he so much as looked at her the wrong way. "You think I'm going to sleep in this cess pit?"

Kenobi raised an eyebrow and moved to the stove. "Would you like some tea?" he asked cordially, as if there was nothing out of the ordinary going on. Suddenly, she hated him more than ever.

* * *

"I'm still not entirely clear on what you expect me to do," Granta Omega groused, putting his feet up on Zan Arbor's desk. "I found Skywalker, but, really, Jenna, what are you hoping to accomplish?"

Zan Arbor furrowed her brow - or made an impressive attempt to, given the massive amount of plastic surgery she'd undergone. "Dooku said there was a problem with the mission," she informed him. "I need you to find out exactly what happened, I need you to get in there and get me some data. He said he had his people working on it, but I don't trust him."

Granta chuckled. "And you trust *me*?" he asked. "According to you, the stuff worked, just not on the right people. What more do you want?"

Zan Arbor let out a sharp breath, and Granta could tell he was trying her patience. "I want," she said very slowly, "you to make sure the *rest* of the plan goes off accordingly." She gave him a slight smile. "And if you can bring me Skywalker, so much the better."

Granta rolled his eyes. "What is it with you and that kid?" he asked. "Go for Kenobi, if you want someone to study."

The scientist rolled her eyes right back. "Kenobi is your obsession, Granta, not mine. I'm sorry your midichlorian count rivals a doorknob, but that's not my problem."

Omega gritted his teeth. His lack of Force-sensitivity was a huge sore spot, and Zan Arbor had very intentionally just dumped salt on it. His father had been Xanatos de Crion, one of the Jedi Order's few defected members, who had supplicated Granta with a sizeable fortune and several wells to draw on for more, despite his son's ... hampered abilities, so to speak.

Omega's adult life, ergo, had been dedicated to picking up where his father left off. His hatred of Jedi was strong, particularly those who had directly interfered with his family's business - namely, Obi-Wan, the apprentice of Xanatos' own Master, Qui-Gon Jinn. Granta had a mild appreciation for Skywalker's rather un-Jedi-like temperament, but beyond Dark Side potential, the brat didn't interest him. Unfortunately, his employer - and her higher-ups, for that matter - seemed to have a hard-on for Anakin.

Zan Arbor seemed pleased that her insult had hit its mark. "Do it for Daddy, if you can't muster up your own selfish reasons," she said mockingly.

"Bitch," Omega grumbled. He stood and strode to the door. "Consider it done," he called to her airily. "Spend some time pampering yourself - take a bubble bath, get a new set of dentures made," he snickered.

Zan Arbor frowned, then pointed towards the entryway. "Out," she ordered.

"I mean, they'll feel a little strange, nobody makes them from wood anymore-"

"OUT!"

Omega took his leave, smirking all the way down the hall.

* * *

Captain Rex of the 501st attack battalion under the command of Jedi General Anakin Skywalker was not a man who was easily surprised. In fact, being surprised was something bred out of all of the clones created for the war. So when aforementioned General appeared, unannounced and obviously tipsy, at the battalion's Coruscanti command post, Rex was surprised at his own surprise.

"Sir, uh, what are you doing here?" he asked, as respectfully as he could. It wasn't as though he didn't like Skywalker; in fact, he and the rest of the 501st held him in high regard as a commander. It was just... well... it was a fairly established rule that the Jedi commanders didn't associate with their troops off the field.

Skywalker shrugged languidly. "Thought you guys might like a night out," he said, which surprised Rex even more. "You've earned it, you know."

Rex's brow furrowed almost comically. Anakin couldn't blame him; all the same, he was desperate for companionship, and thus held out the vague hope that the men created to obey him would not mind embarking with him on some semblance of friendship. Unfortunately, Rex didn't seem to be seeing things his way. "No offense, Sir," he said, bowing his head, "but the boys all kind of do their own thing between missions. Oddball goes to the mosque, I usually stay here-"

"Well, I'll stay with you," Anakin interrupted pleadingly. "Or we can go out. Do you ever go to the Outlander? It's the best place to be on Coruscant on the weekend."

"I'm not much for the nightlife scene, Sir."

"Okay, are you hungry? I'm always hungry. We could go to Dex's." It occurred to Anakin that he was all but begging on his knees at this point, but he couldn't help it; he was bad at being alone. Trapped in his own head, it often led to poor decision-making and what he vaguely remembered quantifying for Ahsoka as his sun-dragon telling him what to do. As he figured the Army of the Republic needed him on the front line rather than waylaid in the Healers' Ward with an IV drip in his arm, he tried not to talk about this very often.

Obi-Wan seemed nominally unimpressed when Anakin had broached the topic once, offering Anakin the same dour expression when he'd intentionally thrown a tantrum to get his Master's attention as a young boy. Obi-Wan had always had a calming effect on him, and he was sure that he wouldn't be nearly kissing Rex's boot tops now if his Master's time wasn't currently being monopolized by ... that. "Please?" he whimpered, meeting Rex's skittish gaze as the Clone Commander all but backed away from his increasingly aggressive stance. "We could play a few rounds of sabacc," Anakin whined.

Rex sighed. "Sorry, Sir," he said apologetically, but not, Anakin thought, overly so. "It's not that... It's just... I think we should just keep things professional." He glanced over his shoulder, and Anakin clenched his fists in frustration.

"I'll pay you!" he exclaimed, realizing that he was more than ready to do just that. Rex could usually figure out what he was trying to get at, why was the man being so dense now? Didn't he realize that Anakin was desperate? "I... I brought beer?" He held up the twelve-pack he'd picked up on the way.

"I'm not very good at sabacc, Sir," Rex replied. "And that's a horrible brand."

Anakin realized he wasn't going to be getting anywhere with his clone captain, and sighed. "Fine," he said. "Have fun being boring, Captain." He turned on his heel and stalked away. He would go home and antagonize Ventress. It wouldn't be fun, but it was all he could think of to do that didn't involve ridiculously stupid behavior. Besides, now he had the rest of the beer to himself. Fair trade-off, or something.

* * *

The first thing Anakin heard upon entering the apartment was a steady stream of curses. Bracing himself, he lit towards his (HIS) room, where the noise emanated, hand on his lightsaber, ready for -

Nothing. No immediate concern, at least, save for Ventress sitting in front of his (his!) computer, shouting at a half-loaded Holonet screen. "You should go to the Healers if it starts yelling back," he snorted.

Ventress whirled around. "It's not my fault your kriffing connection is slower than a couple of retarded banthas mating."

"You would know," Anakin shot back.

The assassin crossed her arms, perturbed. "Well, do something about it," she ordered.

Anakin took his time cracking open a beer for Ventress' benefit. "I don't know what to tell you," he said after a long, exaggerated swig. "I don't control how fast the Holonet runs."

"I bet you know how to speed it up if there's a holotube clip of a nekk-puppy sneezing that you really want to see," Ventress shot back.

Anakin rolled his eyes. "Again, because you would know."

Ventress exhaled angrily. "The Dark Side has way better access," she grumbled. She eyed Anakin pointedly. "In more ways than one."

Anakin yawned disinterestedly. "Where's Ahsoka?" he asked, somewhat alarmed that his apprentice hadn't been fielding Ventress' demands for ... sneezing nekk-puppies, or whatever.

Ventress waved her hand. "Who, that orange one? I told her to make me a sandwich an hour ago. Obviously, the Holonet isn't the only broken thing in this karking place."

"Uh-huh." Anakin sat down on his (HIS, damn it!) bed and crossed his arms, waiting for Ventress to start railing at him again. "I'm sure she just used the opportunity to escape." She was his apprentice, after all, and he didn't exactly blame her.

"Fix this," Ventress demanded again. "I need to download HoloMessenger." Anakin raised an eyebrow and sipped his beer. Ventress snarled at his lack of urgency. "Do it *now*," she snapped.

"Why?" Anakin asked. "It's already on there, anyway, you just have to log in." He decided not to ask why Ventress needed to use the program and instead leaned back on his elbows.

"Your version is a decade old," Ventress replied. "How do you live like this?" She gestured angrily at the computer. "Outdated equipment, ridiculous clothing," she gestured at Anakin, "stupid rules and neural slave transmitters! It's barbaric!"

Anakin had to admit, everything she'd touched on were things he himself tended to dislike about the Order, but since it was coming from Ventress, he decided that it was probably in his best interest not to take the bait. Although... "So the Order sucks sometimes," he said. "At least we're not in the business of oppression and mayhem."

Ventress snorted. "Oh yes, I forgot, the Jedi are all goodness and light, pardon me." She turned back to the computer and smacked the screen with the heel of her palm.

"That only works on 'droids and old starships," Anakin informed her blandly, picking at a stray thread on the comforter. "And if you break my stuff, I'll break your neck. Just a heads up."

Ventress responded with a rude hand gesture, then thumped the monitor again when an error message popped up. "Kriff!" She screeched. "Enough with your Jedi tricks!"

"Someone's going stir-crazy," Anakin sing-songed. He grabbed Ventress' wrist as she moved to slap at his computer again. "Stop that."

"Then FIX it," Ventress bit out furiously.

Anakin sighed. "Give over, then," he ordered. Ventress slithered off of the seat, flouncing heavily onto Anakin's unmade bed. "Your room stinks," she commented as he fiddled with the machine.

The fingers on Anakin's robotic hand tapped at the keyboard. "So shower once in a while, and there won't be a problem," he commented idly.

Ventress rolled her eyes. "You're so kriffing CLEVER. I don't know how you can stand being around so many obviously wit-inferior beings such as myself."

Anakin stared at the monitor while he shut down and restarted the machine. "Great patience, it takes," he replied, throwing his voice to sound like Master Yoda for effect.

"Are you *trying* to make me puke?" Ventress asked, and went to grab a beer. Anakin waved his hand and the case floated over to sit beside the monitor. "Sharing is caring, sleemo," she snarled.

Anakin laughed, getting under the desk to poke at the wiring coming from the back of the computer. "Yeah huh," he snorted. "You're already stealing my bedroom and destroying my stuff, I think I'm within my rights here."

Ventress threw a model spaceship at his rear end. "You know, from this angle," she said, "your ass is enormous. Look!" She threw another model at him. "It has its own gravitational pull!"

Anakin let out a sharp breath. "Yeah, because I totally care what you think about my ass," he replied, rolling his eyes and pulling himself back into the chair. He made a mental note to inspect his posterior later, however.

Ventress smirked. "Sitting on it won't hide how ginormous it is."

Anakin shot her a withering glare. "Do you want me to fix the Holonet or not?" Ventress made a shooing motion telling him to get on with it. Once he'd turned around again, however, another model ship came whizzing at his head. "Are you kriffing two?" he yelled, picking up the ship so it wouldn't be crushed beneath his feet. "Hey," he frowned, examining it closer, "You bent it."

"Awww, are you gonna cry about your broken toy?" Ventress said mockingly.

"I hate you."

"It bent when it bounced off of your ass, anyways," she continued.

Anakin sighed. "It's back on," he said as the monitor displayed his Holonet home page. He started to input his password so he could access his Holomail messages, but Ventress was watching him raptly. "Do you mind?" he asked curtly.

Ventress glowered. "Not at all." She stood directly behind Anakin, and he could sense her staring intently at the screen. Deciding she didn't deserve to be privy to any of his personal communications - especially if there happened to be an impassioned apology message from Padme in there (which he doubted, but still), he heaved a sigh and stood.

"Fine, whatever, don't muck it up again," he said sullenly, returning to his bed, beer and model in his hands. "This is so stupid," he muttered, knowing she could hear him but not really caring. Padme and Rex had pissed him off royally, and the fact his apprentice was nowhere to be found was also somewhat annoying. Hadn't he told her to do as he said, not as he did?

This wasn't even his shift, he told himself. He didn't have to be here; he could certainly probably find somewhere else to be. But then he'd be alone, and he wasn't in the mood for the oftentimes disturbing self-reflections that came with that.

Well, he supposed, with Ventress occupied with the computer, at least he could watch Rogue Jedi in peace.

"Master!" Or not. "Master, you were supposed to be here an hour ago." Trust Ahsoka to keep track of every minute - er, hour. Whatever.

He sighed loudly. "Well, sorr-ee, Snips. I got ... held up." Privately, he wondered how he could have managed going home as a last resort and still turn up late for his Ventress-sitting shift. "Maybe your chrono is fast," he suggested.

"Maybe you should WEAR a chrono," Ahsoka retorted. She made her way to Obi-Wan's chair, which she'd been occupying, shoving books and writing utensils into her backpack quickly, as if afraid that Anakin would leave if she didn't do so first. "The Council's not going to like it if my teachers keep complaining about me missing the first half of their classes," she continued, shoving a well-read Galactic Geography text into her open knapsack with more force than necessary.

Anakin waved his hand. "I'm your most important teacher. Just tell them you were learnin' stuff from me."

Ahsoka glared. "But I haven't been. I've been sitting around, waiting for you to assume your responsibilities so that I CAN learn something." She left fairly abruptly after that. Anakin shrugged, sauntering into the kitchen to assess the alcohol situation. He'd make good with his Padawan once this whole ordeal with the Dark Side's lap dog was finally over, he told himself.

From his room, a sudden 'bang', followed by a string of expletives sounded. Anakin groaned. If someone told him that he'd never have to look at Ventress ever again by tomorrow, he didn't think it would be soon enough.

* * *

Ventress sighed sharply as the messenger dinged its announcement that Dooku had, once again, logged off. She supposed she couldn't truly blame him; the man was rather old, and this new technology tended to baffle him. But still, he'd been insistent that he speak with her, she would have assumed he would have taken a refresher course in HoloMessenger in order to do so if it were that important to him.

"About time," she muttered as the program announced he'd logged back in. "My Lord?"

"What happened?" Dooku asked, and if it hadn't been just words on a screen, Ventress was sure he would look confused.

"You logged yourself off again, my Master." The next response took nearly five minutes, during which Ventress was fairly positive that he'd gone offline again. Naturally, on top of using what appeared to be a beta version of HoloMessenger, Dooku's arthritic fingers found typing to be an extremely arduous task.

"Ventress?"

"Yes, Master, I'm here."

"You didn't answer me before."

Ventress swore out loud. "Master, if you download HoloMessenger onto your computer, you won't have nearly so much trouble staying logged in," she typed back, lethal nails clacking against the keys. Another long silence followed, then, "'SEXXXYSERRANO69' has logged off. They will receive your offline messages when they sign in again." Ventress resisted the urge to toss the entire piece of machinery out the window.

She waited impatiently for her Master to return, at which point he reprimanded her yet again for not responding to him. "Did you receive my offline message, my Lord?"

Four minutes passed. "What???" came the brief reply.

"I sent you a message before."

"Why didn't you respond to me, Ventress?" Then, just as she'd finished cutting-and-pasting her previous text into the correct text box: "'SEXXXYSERRANO69' has logged off. They will receive your offline messages when they sign in again."

Ventress bellowed in fury and snatched up the keyboard, pulling it out of the computer and hurling it across the room. Skywalker was in the doorway instantly, his lightsaber in hand. "What the kriff!" he exclaimed. "I told you to stop breaking my stuff!"

"Kark your 'stuff'," Ventress snapped, kicking the chair over. Skywalker moved towards her, angling his lightsaber as though he were going to cut off some limbs. On the screen, "'SEXXYSERRANO69' has logged on" flashed, and she sighed.

Anakin balked. "Is that ... Dooku?" he crowed. Ventress attempted to minimize the chat window swiftly, but the monitor froze, and her Master's insistence that she was ignoring him stubbornly remained. "Kriffing hells, he's so ... old," Anakin chortled.

Ventress kicked at the computer unit on the floor, and the screen wavered. Anakin left the room, still laughing, and she spent several more minutes restarting the machine yet again. Miraculously, Count Dooku was listed as online when she finally returned to HoloMessenger.

"My Lord," she typed hastily, "I believe your identity has been compromised."

"Ventress?" Came the eventual reply. Then, "'SEXXXYSERRANO69' has logged off. They will receive your offline messages when they sign in again."


	7. Chapter 7: All Alone, I Have Cried

Summary: A run-of-the-mill weekend excursion on the pleasure planet of Corellia results in consequences far more dire than Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi, and Ahsoka Tano anticipate when Obi-Wan ends up married to Asajj Ventress. Chapter Seven: Ends begin to fray, and patience goes awry. Written with D. Rated PG-13.

* * *

**What Happens on Corellia**

_Chapter Seven: All Alone, I Have Cried_

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* * *

_

"Thank you for taking me, Senator," Ahsoka beamed as she perched on Padme's loveseat. The Senate meeting had, she thought, been pretty interesting, even though some of the Senators in attendance had fallen asleep and others had looked as though they were looking at porn on their datapads instead of the constitutional amendment they were supposed to be discussing. Padme had explained all of the proceedings, and even introduced Ahsoka to some of the other Senators as "a bright and talented Jedi". Ahsoka hadn't been blind to the fact her own Master only ever introduced her as "my Padawan" or "the Youngling", if he introduced her at all.

Padme smiled as her golden protocol 'droid poured them tea. "It was a pleasure," she replied. "You're the first Jedi to exhibit even a remote interest in Senatorial proceedings, I was happy to have you there."

"My Master doesn't exactly encourage me to discuss politics," Ahsoka admitted. "Or much of anything, really." She felt bad, disparaging Anakin in front of someone he obviously was *interested* in, but in the course of their day together, Ahsoka had come to trust Padme, and the way she and Anakin had interacted earlier had given Ahsoka the courage to assume Padme could get just as frustrated with him as she did.

Padme snorted lightly into her teacup. "Oh, Anakin doesn't have a head for politics," she said diplomatically.

Ahsoka couldn't help but giggle. "I know!" she squealed. "I mean, Jedi aren't supposed to have political ideologies or anything, but Master Anakin gets very ... passionate about debates and stuff."

"'Passionate' is a good way to put it," Padme smiled. Privately, however, she worried; she knew Anakin wasn't exactly subtle - far from it, as a matter of fact - but the fact remained that he was a Jedi, and there was a certain protocol. She understood the frustration of having that disconnect as a member of the Senate. Anakin didn't believe that - in fact, he occasionally accused her of not being able to understand the causes of his emotional outbursts - but she understood it, probably better than most people. She knew how it felt to have a voice but not be able to use it, how it was to be written off as an impudent child.

And yet, she was able to work through it. Going from feisty queen to an even feistier senator had drummed several harsh truths into Padme's head - among them, she knew how to play the game. She often suspected that many Jedi took certain tenets of the Order with a grain of salt; on the other hand, they still respected and understood why those rules were in place. Padme loved Anakin, and knew it was partially her fault that he had to live such a huge lie in terms of their marriage; but she knew what he was capable of, knew that he took an awful lot of liberties with the system he'd sworn to abide by, and it scared her. If his teenaged Padawan had taken notice, so much the worse. It was one thing to have Obi-Wan turn a blind eye to Anakin's behavior, it was another thing entirely to act the way he did in front of someone he was supposed to be teaching the proper ways of the Jedi.

"He drives me crazy with it sometimes!" Ahsoka continued, and Padme put down her cup. She wondered if the girl would be so forthcoming if she knew the true extent of her and Anakin's relationship, and decided it didn't really matter. Knowing Anakin had taught her that sometimes the Jedi Order didn't provide a proper outlet to express frustration. "He thinks he's always right, and... well... he's *not*!"

Padme covered her mouth with her hand to hide her smile. "I wouldn't take what he says on the subject of politics seriously," she offered gently.

"It's not just that," Ahsoka told her quickly. "It's, like, with *everything*. He's the Master, I'm just the Padawan, so obviously he *knows* *everything*, even though usually he's just making stuff up as he goes along!" The Togruta huffed angrily, crossing her arms over her chest. "He's not even that much older than me!"

"I know, sweetie," Padme started to say, but Ahsoka, newly fueled with anger towards Anakin, continued on with her venting.

"He's rude," she frowned, head-tails bobbing unhappily. "He's overly critical. He never listens. He makes me do things that he's supposed to do, and he never returns the favor or is on time for anything."

"That's all true, but-" Padme tried again.

"And he doesn't respect anyone's personal boundaries! He just thinks it's okay to have sex in front of his Padawan or throw up on her head!" Ahsoka screeched.

Padme sighed. "He does tend to have quite a lot of ... bodily functions," she said, smiling weakly.

Ahsoka's chest heaved. "Last week, he made me buy him beer. And then he was an hour late today for his shift with Ventress, and he yelled at ME because I hadn't made him something for lunch when he finally did get there! And then ..." Ahsoka swallowed hard. "And then he was all, 'Hey, what's orange and is really slow pouring me a beer? Ahslowka'. He - he called me AHSLOWKA." Ahsoka's hands balled into fists. "I hate him!" she sobbed as Padme placed an arm around her awkwardly. "I hate him so much!"

Padme chewed on her lip slightly, suddenly wondering if this was how Anakin was going to act when they were finally living together as husband and wife. If it was, she wondered if she should be talking to her lawyer and drawing up divorce papers. Not that Anakin would take that at all well, of course. Then again, she hoped he knew her well enough to not expect her to wait on him or bring him beer whenever he wanted. He was perfectly capable of doing it on his own, and Padme intended to remind him of the fact the next time she saw him. "It's okay, sweetie," she said softly, "it's okay, a lot of people hate him."

"Please don't tell anyone I said that," Ahsoka gasped, "it's not the Jedi way! And.... and sometimes I worry I'll never be Knighted with him as my Master! And sometimes I just..." she took a deep breath. "Sometimes I just want to junk-punch him! Right in his man-business!"

Padme let out a startled laugh as Ahsoka implored her again not to tell anyone she'd spoken so badly of Anakin. "Believe me," she assured the girl, "I understand where you're coming from."

"But I bet he's never licked you and then gotten mad because you didn't taste like a popsicle!" Ahsoka protested. "Or *thrown up on your head*!"

Padme sighed. She could come up with at least as many complaints about her husband, but most of them involved how he thought he was the Force's gift to her in the bedroom, and she decided Ahsoka didn't need to know all of that, or that her handmaidens were *much* better at satisfying her needs most of the time. "Well, no, but trust me, I know he can be infuriating. It's just... once you get to understand where it's coming from, it's a little easier to deal with."

"You don't honestly believe that, Senator," Ahsoka scoffed.

"I have to, honey," Padme replied with a beleaguered sigh. "I have to."

* * *

  
Obi-Wan was having a rare conversation with Bail Organa - or at least, he was trying to hear what Bail was saying about a recent Senatorial debate over the noise of Anakin and Ventress' squabbling. Having a rare afternoon off, Obi-Wan had decided to attempt an afternoon in 'his' quarters, knowing full well that his apprentice and ... wife would make the possibility of peace an impossibility.

Naturally, Anakin had tried to scoot out of the last half of his shift when Obi-Wan had arrived, but his Master had told him in no uncertain terms - with Ventress listening and snickering in the background, no less - that he was to remain for every minute of it. (Anakin strongly suspected that Ahsoka had aired her grievances about Anakin's ... occasional tardiness to Obi-Wan.)

In any case, stuck together, Anakin had begrudgingly agreed to a game of Word Crib, which involved forming words from a random drawing of lettered squares. He was hideous at the activity himself, having been sorely bested by both Obi-Wan and Ahsoka on several occasions; but he was tired of Ventress spending the majority of his shift ripping up furniture and complaining at him, which had led them to board games.

"For the last time, that's not a word!" Obi-Wan heard Ventress shriek. Then came the clattering of something being thrown, and Obi-Wan sighed.

"I'm not sure how much longer I can take this," he admitted to Bail. Organa was one of the very, very few Senators Obi-Wan trusted, if only because he'd known the other man for most of his life. Qui-Gon had been friends with Bail's father, and so Bail and Obi-Wan had more-or-less grown up together, though Bail was slightly older. Even after going into politics, Bail had always seemed, to Obi-Wan, to be forthright and honest, a rarity in the Senate these days. "Anakin's no help, and the woman is... she's maddening." Though he was sure it was not something the Council wanted spread around, Obi-Wan hadn't been able to keep himself from venting his frustrations to his friend.

Bail looked sympathetic. "Want to trade wives?" he asked hopefully. "At least it doesn't sound like Ventress wants to decorate an invisible nursery for imaginary babies."

Obi-Wan snorted. "Tempting," he said, and it really was. "Very, very tempting." It would be an understatement to call Bail's wife, Breha "child crazy". The woman seemed to have made it her singular goal in life to be a mother, which ironically meant that she had to partake in the activity that might get her pregnant once in a while. Obi-Wan had been privy - usually not by choice - to Senator Organa's complaints about his marriage. He was always awkwardly supportive, naturally, but usually found himself out of sorts about the entire ordeal. In most circumstances (drunken, shotgun weddings included), Jedi were not allowed to be married, and even if they could be, he was fairly certain he would find the ritual vaguely distasteful, at best - even having wed somebody other than Ventress.

Bail sighed. "Worth a try," he said, somewhat dejectedly.

The sound of a lightsaber igniting made Obi-Wan jump. "I have to go," he said, wishing that, for once, Anakin could keep his temper in check and his hands off his weapon for more than fifteen minutes. "I'll call you later, Bail."

Bail nodded, cut the connection, and Obi-Wan closed his eyes to gather the strength he would undoubtedly need to continue with his day. He stalked back out to the sitting room, littered with the now usual array of cans and wrappers, all seemingly centered around Anakin and Ventress, the former of whom seemed poised to cut a playing board in half with his lightsaber. "I get to be the shoe!" Anakin enunciated through clenched teeth.

Ventress crossed her arms. "Oh, big man. Nobody gets to be the karking shoe if you decimate everything."

"You didn't even give a kriff about the shoe until I said I wanted it," Anakin glared. Obi-Wan coughed and they both looked up. "Master, tell her that I'm the shoe," he said petulantly.

"'Master, tell her that I'm the shoe'", Ventress mimicked, snickering.

Obi-Wan sighed. "How about neither of you are the shoe," he said tiredly. Shared time between his hostage-wife and his - somehow, adult - apprentice was worse than a Crèche full of younglings.

Anakin mulled over this before grabbing up a small metal game piece shaped like a hat. "Fine," he agreed. "But I get to be the banker."

Ventress snorted. "You can't even count to one with your dick. I'll be the banker."

"Yeah, so you can cheat," Anakin exclaimed. "I don't think so."

"At least I have the mental capacity TO cheat," Ventress crowed.

"You ARE a mental capac-"

"I will be the banker," Obi-Wan cut in, not even aware that he had planned to participate. If it would stop the seemingly endless squabbling for even a few blissful seconds, however, he was willing to try it.

His hope was short-lived, however, since Anakin and Ventress seemed determined to treat the game as an extension of their usual bickering. "You're not playing it right!" Anakin exclaimed, tossing a card at Ventress. "You're not supposed to just... just... you can't own everything!"

"That's the *point*, Skywalker," Ventress snarled back. "Just because you can't figure out the basic math required to *not* have to mortgage all your property doesn't mean *I'm* playing it wrong."

Obi-Wan sighed as Anakin tried to convince Ventress to trade three of her properties for two of his, remembering why board games had never been a pastime he and his apprentice had enjoyed together.

"Both of you, stop it," he ordered, "or we're starting again." The threat of another two hours of game play calmed them momentarily. However, Anakin kept trying to bargain with Ventress to buy back a piece of property he'd given up in lieu of paying a hefty fee for landing on one of her spaces adorned with three settlements, and she finally snapped: "I'm not selling it to you, Skywalker!"

"Come on," Anakin groused for the hundredth time. "That's how the game is played."

"There's no rule that says I have to sell you anything," Ventress retorted. "And besides," she said snippily, "you'll only spend it on drugs."

"Hey, smoke 'em if you've got 'em, I always say," Anakin said cheerfully. Obi-Wan rolled his eyes. He could play house with a pretend baby. He could have ten pretend babies. Bail didn't understand how good he had it - none of his problems were even material (yet).

"Kark this game," Anakin announced angrily, after landing on another of Ventress' properties. Bits of shrapnel and the game board itself suddenly rained down, causing all three to duck for cover. "There," he said, satisfied as two pairs of eyes glared daggers at him (Ventress seemed to be looking around for an actual dagger, in point of fact). "What?"

* * *

  
Count Dooku was vaguely frustrated. If he could just comm Ventress, things would be much easier, but he knew neither of them could risk that, given her current living arrangements. Even with the holonet messenger, it could come out that she was talking to him. Not that it mattered; they wouldn't be able to find him, and it wasn't as though they'd been able to discuss anything of importance.

Unfortunately, somebody seemed to have figured out his screen name. For the third time, he tried to log back on, only to find five offline messages entreating him to visit various HoloNet pages. He'd learned after clicking on the first twelve that none of them had anything to do with sneezing nerfs, as had been advertised, and everything to do with something called 2Handmaidens1Artoo unit.

"Lord Tyrannus, is it working yet?" Sidious snapped, appearing at his side, seemingly from out of nowhere. To make matters even worse, Dooku's Master's holocomputer seemed to be on the verge of dying. He suspected it had a lot to do with the pop-up windows that kept appearing whenever he clicked on one of the links in the messages from "IHAVEAROBOCLAW". He'd heard of viruses mucking up Senate Holomail accounts, and would have looked into similar warfare himself if he had any idea how to go about using it.

Fortunately, Sidious knew even less about technology than he did. Unfortunately, this meant he was extremely paranoid of, well, everything. "You'd better not be downloading any programs, Lord Tyrannus," he rasped, gnarled hands balling into tight, cold little fists.

Dooku sighed. "I am unable to communicate with my assassin without reliable technology, my Lord," he suggested. They had had this conversation numerous times, however, and so he already knew the outcome.

"This computer is perfectly fine," Sidious hissed. "There would be nothing wrong with it if you wouldn't download anything." He narrowed his yellow eyes as he peered at the screen. "Sneezing nekk puppies, Lord Tyrannus?" he asked incredulously.

Dooku was enough of a gentleman to stop Sidious from clicking the link. "Someone is, er, spamming, I believe the term is, me, my Lord," he explained quickly, shutting the program down before IHAVEAROBOCLAW could send anything more.

Sidious sighed in disgust. "I'll have to call tech support," he said. "Again." He flicked his fingers disinterestedly. "You may leave."

Dooku stood and bowed, then took his leave quickly, making a mental note to register a new screen ID if this roboclaw fellow continued to bother him. He was fairly certain Palpatine didn't have any better luck than he did at reaching a live person on those holophone support lines, but if he didn't have to waste three hours listening to lift music while an automated voice assured him that his call "would be answered in the order it was received", so much the better. His time was precious.

All the same, however, it made him wonder why Palpatine was offering himself up for such a menial task.

Palpatine, for his part, had no desire to let his apprentice in on the fact he never had to wait on hold for a support agent from Ryloth to stumble over whatever problem the computer had developed. He had a direct line to the best tech support in the galaxy. Opening the comm channel, he composed his "Palpatine" face.

"Your Excellency!"

Palpatine smiled. "Anakin, my boy," he said warmly, "do you think you have time for an old friend?"

* * *

  
Obi-Wan never knew what to expect when returning to his and Anakin's (and Ventress') shared quarters these days. He did not know whether limbs would be in-tact, which pieces of his furniture would be upended, or really if the fellow occupants would be there at all. Anakin was awful at keeping appointments, and could often find himself barely touching base at the Temple for days, even weeks on end. That he was forced to return home daily for a set number of hours to keep an unwelcome guest from assassinating anyone for nearly two months now had to be grating on him rather a lot.

Obi-Wan accepted and respected the ups and downs of Anakin's temperament, and had even come to appreciate them. This did not stop him from getting angry when he arrived home to find Oddball occupying the space in the tattered sitting room where Anakin could usually be pinpointed. The clone, in full uniform minus helmet, looked miserable and afraid, and as he nearly toppled Obi-Wan by throwing himself hysterically into the slight man's arms, dried tear stains were visible on his face.

"Oh, thank the stars," he choked out, and Obi-Wan struggled to pry himself from the clone's surprisingly tight grip. A number of scenarios came to mind, and all of them ended with Anakin consuming large quantities of alcohol and shirking his duties.

He patted the sniffling clone awkwardly on the shoulder, finally freeing himself from the hug. "All right then, Oddball," he said. He braced himself to have his suspicions confirmed: "Where is Anakin?" And Ventress, he added silently, but a crash coming from down the hall provided an answer. Beside him, Oddball quaked at the noise. "Well?" Obi-Wan prompted. "What's going on here?"

The Clone trooper's voice wavered as he replied, "G-general Skywalker requested backup." He looked down the hall furtively, then back at Obi-Wan, pleading. "H-h-he had a... A... An audience with the Supreme Chancellor, he said."

Obi-Wan sighed deeply. While he didn't doubt that Anakin had gone to seen Palpatine, the knowledge he had done so during the time of his previously-scheduled shift, and had put poor Oddball in considerable danger, made Obi-Wan rethink his entire 'don't kill my former apprentice for being an idiot' stance. Besides, Obi-Wan disliked the Chancellor as much as a Jedi was allowed to dislike someone, something Anakin seemed in turns oblivious to, or furious about.

"I see," Obi-Wan replied, calming himself for Oddball's sake. "And Ventress?"

"Kark you, you mother-humping son of a whore!" Ventress' voice pealed from down the hall. Obi-Wan blinked once.

"She's been yelling at the Holonet terminal in General Skywalker's room all day," Oddball explained. "And throwing things. And trying to... To..." He surreptitiously covered his groin plate.

Obi-Wan waved his hand, understanding the general gist. It all amounted to the fact that Anakin had shirked his duties. Again. He didn't have to see Ventress to know that she was pissed off and breaking something; yet another string of obscenities emanating from Anakin's room confirmed this. "It's all right, Oddball," he said tiredly. "Go on, go home and recoup."

"Thank you, Sir," the quivering clone sobbed. He fairly ran to the door, not pausing to see what he had crunched underneath his boot on the way.

Obi-Wan checked the chrono on his commlink. Anakin still had an hour left of his shift, and was nowhere to be seen. He was punching in the coordinates to contact his wayward former apprentice when, as if on cue, Anakin breezed through the front door, stepping on the same broken cup that Oddball had stomped over.

"He~ey, Master." Anakin was overly exuberant, which meant he had had his ego stroked, or was drunk. Or both. The whiff of alcohol that Obi-Wan received when Anakin crossed the room and flung his arms around his Master's neck confirmed this. "How's it goin'?"

"Anakin, get off," Obi-Wan frowned, pushing him away and crossing his arms. Anakin swayed a little, but managed to stay on his own two feet. He grinned goofily, probably thinking that it looked charming, but Obi-Wan had had enough.

"Where'd Oddball go?" Anakin asked, looking around with measured care. "I told him to watch the she-devil while I was out." He frowned deeply, crossing his own arms, and then putting a foot out to catch himself when he stumbled backwards. "I'm gonna have to write him up for abandoning his post."

"You will do no such thing!" Obi-Wan exclaimed. He could sense Ventress behind him, lulled from Anakin's room at the sound of his raised voice. "I have attempted to be patient with you, Anakin," he continued, finding himself overcome with frustration and pent-up anger at the whole situation. "I have tried, again and again, to tell myself how difficult this must be for you. I have turned a blind eye to your behavior."

Anakin held up a finger and opened his mouth to interject, but Obi-Wan cut him off. "No. I am completely fed up with your childish antics. You have not *once* completed an entire assigned shift. You make a mess when you *are* here and never once have attempted to clean it up. You antagonize Ventress completely unnecessarily. You saddle your apprentice with more than she needs or deserves, and you treat each of us as if we are your personal servants."

Again, Anakin held up a hand. "I wouldn't, Master, I was a slave, and..."

"SHUT UP, Anakin!" Obi-Wan shouted, surprising himself. "Just, for once, *shut up*!"

Anakin blinked and shut his mouth in surprise. He rarely saw Obi-Wan lose it like this; if it hadn't been directed at him, it would be highly entertaining. Nonetheless, this thought was derailed by a snicker from Ventress: "And you smell like farts, Skywalker."

"Kark you," he spat reflexively, and then yelped at the stinging sensation that accompanied Obi-Wan's slapping him clean across the face. "OW! Master!"

"I'm sorry, Anakin, but you've really upset me," Obi-Wan said tacitly. He took a deep breath. "We are not going to continue to go around about this. Starting immediately, you are going to be on time for all of your engagements. You are going to stop fighting with Ventress. And you are NOT going to substitute yourself for one of your men or your Padawan ever again."

"And you smell like farts."

Anakin harrumphed. "I do not," he muttered, but winced when Obi-Wan raised his hand again. "Okay, okay. I will do these things you ask, Master," he said, bowing his head in a show of reverence.

Obi-Wan nodded, his eyes bright. "Good," he smiled. He checked his commlink chrono again. "You've 35 minutes left of your shift. I expect this all to be cleaned up before it's over." He walked off, whistling. Anakin caught Ventress glowering at him and mimicked the expression with his own.

"You stink," she repeated, smirking with satisfaction. Without warning, Anakin cut a loud fart. It quickly wafted into the assassin's air space, leaving her gasping and clutching her throat. "You karking ... kriff ... you SMELL, Skywalker!"

"Thank you for the compliment," Anakin grinned.

* * *

  
"That take-out bag is not what I asked for," Zan Arbor sneered as Granta Omega entered her office. "I asked you for data. Or, barring that, Skywalker himself. You brought me *take out*?" She wrinkled her nose at the greasy aroma emanating from the bag, which Granta promptly tossed onto her desk. It landed with a wet sound and she immediately moved her flimsi sheets out of the way.

"I brought you take-out from the place Skywalker's been going every night - morning - whatever," Granta replied with a shrug. "Look, I still have no karking idea what you want from me. I'm not risking my ass on this, you old goat."

Zan Arbor glowered, and Granta blinked at her, nonplussed. "The most you're going to get from me is vid of that stupid kid stuffing his face," Granta pointed out. "I can't get close to him without being recognized."

Zan Arbor let out a sharp breath. "Let me spell it out for you," she said, slowly and deliberately, "I don't trust Dooku to give me the data he promised me when this is all over. I need you to get blood samples from the night this started. They will have kept them in the Temple. All you have to do is get in. You're invisible in the Force," she reminded him, "it shouldn't be too kriffing hard."

Granta rolled his eyes. "See, you could have just said so, you kriffing bat."

Zan Arbor feigned a yawn and waved at him. "You may leave," she told him curtly. "Come back when you are useful to me." She made a face at the pile of discarded, slightly rotting diner food: "Don't forget to take this with you."

"I hauled it all the way here," Granta complained as he gingerly shoved the contents into their grease-stained bag. "It totally stunk up my ship."

"Not my problem, Omega."

He swore under his breath, wishing he had a sliver of the Force abilities that his father did so that he could levitate decomposing food, or choke deranged old women when they deserved it. "Toodle-loo," he said mockingly, raising a hand to wave.

Zan Arbor smirked. "You've got sauce on your sleeve."

Granta shot her a rude hand gesture and took his leave. Idly, he wondered how many people would pay for the remains of Skywalker's meal. He glared at the sleeve of his expensive tunic, now soiled with some sort of orange concoction. "I hate that kid," he muttered to himself.


	8. Chapter 8: Silent Tears, Full of Pride

Ends are starting to fray, folks. Only two chapters left.

Summary: A run-of-the-mill weekend excursion on the pleasure planet of Corellia results in consequences far more dire than Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi, and Ahsoka Tano anticipate when Obi-Wan ends up married to Asajj Ventress. Chapter Eight: The Council attempts to smooth over ruffled feathers; Palpatine has a plan. Written with D. Rated PG-13.

* * *

**What Happens on Corellia**

_Chapter Eight: Silent Tears, Full of Pride_

_

* * *

_

For the first three weeks after Obi-Wan's, well, mental breakdown (the best term Anakin could think of to describe it), Anakin was very careful to uphold his end of the bargain. He arrived early for his shifts - the first few times, Ahsoka had attempted to take him to the Healer's for this. He stayed until Obi-Wan arrived, and sometimes after. He cleaned up after himself and Ventress, and generally "played nice". (Ventress did not return the favor.)

It couldn't last, however, and the strain of curbing his attitude for a large portion of his day with no way of letting off any steam was beginning to wear thin. This was why he was best out in the field, anyway - at least there he could destroy battle 'droids to his heart's content whenever he got frustrated.

He began going back out at night. First, it was just after his shift ended, for small amounts of time; just enough to catch a buzz, since he didn't really want to be slapped again for being tardy. Gradually, he stayed out for longer periods of time when he found out that "catching a buzz" sometimes took a while. And sometimes he wanted to get laid, and that took a while too. Eventually, he decided that as long as he was back in the apartment before Obi-Wan's shift ended, he was fine. He'd sleep through Ahsoka's shift and be ready for his own. He also didn't want Obi-Wan to know he was out all night partying, so he began sneaking in the window. It was a brilliant plan, and he never ceased to congratulate himself on it, especially after he'd had a few.

Sneaking into his own room was easiest, as it faced an angle that Obi-Wan couldn't immediately see from the living room. Also, Ventress insisted that he smelled like bantha pee and flatulence, so it was always propped open. Standing beneath the ledge, Anakin peered up, preparing to jump the distance with the Force. It was funny: The ledge didn't usually move this much. Ideally, it shouldn't have been moving at all.

"Gurgh," Anakin said aloud, eloquently intoxicated. He burped and wrinkled his nose at the smell. Sizing up the distance, he took a bit of a running leap, barely making it. It took all of his effort to stay standing. Sober, he was much more nimble; after a particularly fruitful evening at the Outlander, however, the short leap had left him breathless and clutching the thin windowpane for balance. Not trusting himself to crouch, he bent awkwardly to remove the screen, and then began to feed himself through the opening.

"Stang," he muttered, after nearly slipping backwards anew. Eventually, he decided to pitch himself inside head-first. Everything spun as he tried to balance on his knees on the tiny ledge, and then on only one knee so he could step inside. It didn't work. Frustrated and panicked, Anakin held his breath, closed his eyes, and tossed himself, gangly limbs and all, through the slot.

The sound the ripped from Ventress as her face and upper body were immersed in Anakin Skywalker's sweaty, near-comatose frame was absolutely murderous. She pounded on Anakin's back and kicked at him violently, all the while cursing and snarling. Shocked out of his near-stupor, Anakin fought back as best he could, but most of his blows were off the mark. Finally, Ventress flipped him off the bed and onto his back on the floor, planting one foot on his neck. "Don't. Do. That. Again," she snarled at him, and slammed her foot down onto his solar plexus. Anakin gagged and rolled onto his side, curling into a ball to avoid any more blows to any sensitive areas.

"Get the kriff out of my room," Ventress ordered, flouncing back to the bed and making a show of wrapping herself in the blankets.

Once Anakin was sure he wasn't going to be beaten up any more, he staggered to his feet. "S'my room," he informed her, shifting his weight from foot to foot and jerking his head up haughtily, trying to get the three Ventresses in front of him to merge into one - he would much rather be attacked by one of her, after all.

"Not anymore," she replied, smiling sickly at him. "You should go to bed - don't want to be late for your apprentice!" Her tone was saccharine-sweet, the smile still plastered on her face.

"Yeah, yea-" Anakin began, then blinked, let out a couple of wet-sounding hiccups, leaned over, heaved twice, and threw up the contents of his stomach on the carpet. "Goin' to bed, now," he promised, lurching sideways.

Ventress screeched. "You'd better kriffing clean that up!"

"Nuh-uh," Anakin slurred, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. "S'not my room. G'night." He fumbled with the doorknob and stumbled into the hallway. His mind addled, he considered his options. There was the floor, which he didn't prefer; there was the couch, but it smelled weird and was really lumpy - he'd be better off sleeping on the floor. Ahsoka had warned him that she'd comm the Council the next time she even heard rumors of him in the Padawan dorms, and Padme seemed miffed at him for whatever reason. Finally, he settled on the best possible scenario.

Obi-Wan's bedroom door was ajar, a light snoring sound filtering through the darkness. Blearily, Anakin crossed the threshold. As his eyes adjusted, he observed Obi-Wan sleeping peacefully, his bare chest rising and falling, relaxed. The bed looked warm and inviting, and Anakin felt his consciousness slipping fast.

"Massur ... Mas-ter, m-move over," Anakin said, irritated that he was having so much difficulty achieving his goals tonight. Obi-Wan, for his part, did not respond, just grunted in deep sleep. "Massur. Obi-Waaan. C-c'mon, Master, give overrr." None too gracefully, Anakin clamored atop the mattress, his long limbs flapping about awkwardly. "Oof," he gasped as he fell sideways across his Master.

Obi-Wan did not squawk at him as Ventress had. Instead, he was gradually and irritably roused from his slumber. "Anakin, what-" he began, sitting up and sighing unhappily. His hair was stuck up at odd angles; Anakin thought it was kind of sexy. "Anakin, gerrof," Obi-Wan said, more firmly this time.

"Master, can I sleep here tonight?" Anakin wheedled, pushing himself with much effort onto his hands and knees. He maneuvered himself to straddle Obi-Wan before his Master could stop him and pressed their noses together. "Isso c-comforb ... comfortable."

"Anakin, please get off of me." Obi-Wan was more awake now, and less impressed than ever.

Anakin blinked at him, Obi-Wan's disapproval going completely over his spinning head. "But, but, Massur, I, you're jus' I..." His Master looked so wonderfully sexy and rumpled, and Anakin found he couldn't stop himself from pressing his lips to Obi-Wan's. It felt so nice; it had been a long time since he'd been alone with Obi-Wan, and now seemed like as good a time as any to get... reacquainted. "You're so hot, Master," he managed once they'd pulled apart. Or, rather, Obi-Wan had pulled away, rolling out from under Anakin, sending him toppling sideways.

"Go away, Anakin," Obi-Wan said, very grumpily for someone who had just been kissed by their all-time favorite former apprentice. "I am not interested in sharing my bed with someone who has very obviously vomited in the recent past."

Anakin was going to grumble that now that he'd puked, he was feeling much better and was really mostly interested in passing out somewhere that wouldn't cause him any severe back pain (he'd woken up in the bathtub several times over the past week, and had a crick in his neck to show for it) rather than sex, but if he could get sex out of it, so much the better. Unfortunately, Obi-Wan was in the process of hauling him into a sitting position by his armpits and he lost his train of thought. "Massur, you should to'lly let me sleep here," he managed. "I'm, I'm a little drunk and I think it would be best if I slept... *here*." He felt his eyes drifting closed and he hoped Obi-Wan could just find it in his heart to let him sleep somewhere comfortable for a change.

"You're a lot drunk, and I am very, very tired of dealing with you," Obi-Wan replied sharply, pulling him to his feet. "Now go sleep on the sofa like you agreed you would."

"But it smells like pee!" Anakin protested. "And the s-springs always go up my ass."

"Language, Anakin," Obi-Wan said automatically, but he could tell he was fighting a losing battle. Whenever Anakin got like this (often), it was usually best to let him lay wherever he fell. He watched his apprentice make an effort to scrape his teeth and tongue against a bit of shirt collar. It wasn't going to do much to waylay the smell, but ... he was trying.

Obi-Wan was about to give in, and then Ventress was suddenly in the doorway, half-nude and fully pissed off. "He puked in my room," she said accusatorily, pointing a bony finger at Anakin, who was struggling to step out of his pants.

"I give up," Obi-Wan said, shaking his head. He yanked Anakin up by the ear, ignoring the peals of protest. "Out. Now. Get out."

Anakin's chest heaved with theatrical sobs. "But Master," he sniffled loudly, "I wanna DO it." Obi-Wan slammed the door in his face; a lock clicked into place a moment later. Frowning, and no longer near-crying, Anakin turned and balled his fist at Ventress. "I was this close to getting some, and you ruined it!" he yelled.

Ventress snorted. "As if you could have gotten it up." She stepped over the vomit still covering the rug in Anakin's room, grabbing up a pillow and the blanket on the bed. "Clean that up," she ordered, making her way over to Obi-Wan's chair - probably the least-urinated-on piece of furniture in the apartment - and setting up camp.

Anakin glared at her. "I could have," he muttered to no one in particular.

* * *

Obi-Wan had learned early on in this ordeal that Council meetings regarding Ventress' presence were never going to go in his favor. The Council didn't seem to understand how deeply entrenched the woman's hatred for them was, nor did they seem to care what kind of a mess her continued cohabitation was causing in Obi-Wan's personal life. He'd barely spoken two words to Anakin since the unfortunate incident in his bedroom, and he'd been hearing from Ahsoka's instructors that she was falling behind in her coursework.

The Council - and Yoda in particular - seemed to turn a blind eye to all of this, and in fact, seemed to be mildly amused by the entire affair. Thus, Obi-Wan dreaded any and all meetings with the Council. The fact Anakin and Ahsoka had also been summoned to this particular meeting did not make him feel any better, and seeing Chancellor Palpatine in the Council chambers upon his arrival made him even more uneasy, especially given how much Anakin seemed to brighten.

"You're late," Windu snapped as they entered, Ventress reluctantly in tow.

Obi-Wan sighed. Getting all of them out the door at the same time these days was next to impossible. Ventress' implant had to be recalibrated, Anakin had to be prodded to consciousness, and Ahsoka had to be retrieved from her sanctuary of the Padawan dorms. It was a wonder they arrived any earlier than fifteen minutes late to anything. Instead of explaining all of this, however, Obi-Wan merely sighed. "Forgive me, Masters." Behind him, Ventress harrumphed.

Windu steepled his fingers. "Let's make this as brief as possible. Kenobi," he barked, and all eyes slid to Obi-Wan's slight frame. "Report."

Obi-Wan glanced around at the collective members of the Order and Palpatine. "Masters," he began, "It has been nearly four months since our fateful trip to Corellia and the events that transpired there. It is my opinion that Asajj Ventress' being taken into captivity has yielded fairly unhelpful results, when the amount of time and energy expended on her upkeep is taken into account."

"I have told them nothing," Ventress cut in, pleased with herself.

Yoda made a gurgling noise. "Think Ventress would benefit as much from a private cell, do you?" he asked shrewdly.

Obi-Wan swallowed. He hadn't wanted to dance around the issue, but he wasn't sure he wanted to sentence Ventress to her face, either. "Well," he said awkwardly, hedging. "Well, given that ... I suppose under the circumstances ... it's not that I wish her harm, but ..."

"I want my room back," Anakin thundered suddenly. Obi-Wan heard Ventress shift and groaned inwardly, mentally preparing himself for yet another of their squabbles. Fortunately, Master Windu silenced them with a sharp glance. "Well, it's mine ..." Anakin mumbled. Ahsoka kicked him. "OW, knock it OFF, Snips-"

"Skywalker, shut your hole," Windu barked.

"Yes, Master," Anakin said quickly.

"Answer me, you have not, Obi-Wan," Yoda noted.

Obi-Wan looked down. "I don't know that keeping Ventress locked in a dank cell for the remainder of the war will go far in rehabilitating her," he said finally. "And she certainly won't have the same security as she does being held inside the Temple." He took a deep breath. "I am simply not sure my services are being used in the most helpful way possible to the Order."

"Or mine," Ahsoka chimed in sweetly. "I've missed a lot of class." Anakin looked like he wanted to add something himself, but seemed to think better of it when Ahsoka stared stonily at him.

"This may not be the best time to bring it up," Palpatine ventured, "but my current... technical difficulties... would be greatly helped by Master Skywalker's assistance." Obi-Wan felt his throat tighten as Anakin's relief and pleasure became palpable within the Force. The rest of the Council seemed to look to each other and then at Anakin, and Obi-Wan knew exactly where this was going.

"Assist the Supreme Chancellor, young Skywalker will," Yoda proclaimed. To his credit, he sounded slightly reluctant. But, Obi-Wan thought bitterly, only slightly. "Attend her classes, Padawan Tano must." Obi-Wan took a deep breath, preparing for what he knew was coming. "Take up more of their shifts, Obi-Wan must."

Obi-Wan closed his eyes, trying to release his fury into the Force. Of course, *he* didn't have anything else going on, so who better to oversee the imprisonment of Ventress? His life was officially unfair. "In that case," he said, scrambling to salvage anything from the conversation, "I would request that the Council permanently recalibrate Ventress' implant so I can bring her outside of our apartment." Truth be told, Obi-Wan himself was going a little stir-crazy, and besides, having a little more freedom might prove beneficial to Ventress. "I feel that I would be better able to get information from her if she did not feel so ... confined."

"That's not possible." Along with members of the Council, Bant and two other Healers were also present. "Ventress is very dangerous," one of them intoned. "She does not need to have access to any more of the Temple so that she can destroy it."

Obi-Wan stood his ground; he was already doomed to spend the rest of his life with the woman - he wasn't going to be imprisoned forever, as well. "Be that as it may," he enunciated, "My own abilities will be hampered by continued isolation. If Ventress is to stay under my guard for even longer periods of time, then she will need to be able to stretch her legs, as well."

The room was thoughtfully silent. Finally, Bant spoke up: "Perhaps the Force suppressor could be recalibrated on a case-by-case basis," she offered. "Obi-Wan could contact the Healers when he needed to bring Ventress somewhere."

"Mmm," Yoda murmured approvingly. "A good compromise, this is." The other members of the Council nodded. Obi-Wan shrugged. It was better than nothing, he thought.

Palpatine clapped his hands softly. "Well, now that that's settled," he said happily, "Perhaps some lighter fare? There is a Senatorial banquet approaching. I would like to cordially extend an invitation to the Jedi Order to attend."

Windu raised an eyebrow. "A party? In the middle of the war? Isn't that a little ... uncouth?"

"On the contrary, my dear Master Windu," Palpatine smiled, "I am strongly of the opinion that a little merry-making will boost morale that has slipping. The Senate needs the distraction - and quite frankly, so do I!" The older gentleman let out a small laugh. Anakin was the only one who nodded.

"In any case," Palpatine continued, "The Jedi officially have an open invitation."

After a few more minutes of forced small talk, during which Anakin continued to schmooze Palpatine and Ventress stink-eyed everybody who looked at her, Obi-Wan requested to take his leave. "Be well, Obi-Wan," Windu said curtly. It was the closest he ever came to a cordiality.

"And you, Master. Masters." Obi-Wan bowed respectfully, then beckoned for Ventress to follow him. He didn't notice the private glance that the assassin shared with the Chancellor, just before the door shut behind her.

* * *

It felt like a dozen lifetimes since Obi-Wan had last been in the Room of a Thousand Fountains. While once a refuge from the stress and chaos of the war, he'd been unable as of late to experience the tranquility and calming essence of the chamber. He hadn't realized how much he'd missed it until he was standing at the foot of the largest of the many waterfalls.

"This place makes me have to piss."

Obi-Wan let out a pained sigh. Being here was his consolation prize for having to cart Ventress wherever he went, now that Ahsoka and Anakin had been allowed shorter shifts and he'd made his own cabin fever known. Not, he thought somewhat bitterly, that Anakin particularly deserved any leeway like the kind he was getting, but he understood the sway Palpatine held over the Council, and over Anakin. It didn't make him feel any better about it, but at least he'd been granted the relative freedom of being able to come here, even if he had to drag Ventress along with him.

"I told you to go before we left the Healers'," he said, settling into a cross-legged position on the soft moss and gesturing for Ventress to join him. He half-hoped that bringing her here would be a balm for her, would soften her as she was able to experience the serenity of this pinnacle of Force power, cut off from it though she was. Unfortunately, that did not seem to be the case.

"When are you going to figure it out, Kenobi?" the would-be assassin snarled. "You can't control me. This sick little experiment of yours should prove that."

"It hasn't exactly been a picnic for me either, Asajj."

Ventress pointed at Obi-Wan accusingly. "Just know that you aren't doing me any favors keeping me under the Jedi's collective thumb," she told him point-blank. "Not in the slightest. You may think you're being kind and generous keeping me out of prison, safely bundled away from accessing the Force, but I welcome the incarceration."

Obi-Wan sighed. "I'm so sorry my company is less attractive than a six-by-six-foot cell."

"Hmm." Ventress looked around. "I think you're scared," she offered, staring out across one of the room's many watery surfaces. "You know that I would escape in a heartbeat. No Republic prison could hold me for long. All this would have been a waste of your precious time. Not that it won't be, anyways."

Obi-Wan stroked his chin, bemused. "I suppose you can predict the future?"

Ventress smirked. Her eyes met his, and something indescribable passed between them. "Perhaps not," Ventress said, after a long pause. "But I have friends in high places."

Obi-Wan nodded slowly. Eventually, Ventress turned away. Lost in his own thoughts, Obi-Wan did not notice her venture closer to the nearest fountain's edge until it was too late. "You're not ... urinating in there!" he balked in open-mouthed disgust.

Ventress swiveled her head and grinned wickedly. "I told you I had to piss."

* * *

When Anakin arrived home for his only full shift for the week, he was dismayed to find Ventress relieving herself in the kitchen sink. "What is it with you and pee?" he asked, making a face.

Ventress jerked a thumb in the direction of the 'fresher. "That orange girl won't vacate the facilities. I told her it was on her head if something happened." The satisfied gleam in her eyes made it clear that she was proud of herself.

Anakin growled and ran a hand through his hair. He stalked towards the 'fresher, trying the door and discovering that it was locked. "Snips. Snips!" He rapped a couple of times with his artificial hand. "Ahsoka! Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," came his Padawan's eventual reply. The Togruta teen's voice was strained, annoyed, and Anakin suspected he was little more welcome to her than the woman currently rubbing her nether regions with one of Obi-Wan's hand towels. A curt, "I'll be out in a moment" followed, and Anakin relaxed slightly.

Nonetheless, Ahsoka took her time, eventually pulling open the door. "You're here," she said boredly.

"Twenty minutes early, even."

"Wow, shocking." Ahsoka ducked under her Master's arm, beelining to a corner of the living room where her book bag was stashed. "If it's all the same to you, I've got an exam to make up. Later." She was gone with nary a backwards' glance at Ventress.

"What's up her ass?" Ventress had helped herself to sandwich materials, which she balanced on a plate in one hand, the holovision remote in the other. She began making her way towards Obi-Wan's armchair, but Anakin beat her to it. "Move."

"No." Anakin put his feet up obstinately. "What'd you do to Ahsoka?" he asked. "She's usually not so short with me."

Ventress frowned. "She seems pretty short to me."

"Ugh." Anakin rolled his eyes. "I hate you."

"Touche," Ventress retorted. She shrugged, bored with the interrogation. "She's no fun, anyways." The assassin raised her booted foot. "Get out of the chair!"

"Use the couch."

"It smells like bantha feces and you," Ventress informed Anakin. "Which makes sense, because you've been wetting it nearly every night."

Anakin raised an eyebrow. "Did I, or did I not just watch you urinate in the kriffing sink?"

Ventress blinked. "You watched? You're disgusting, Skywalker."

"Kriffing hells," Anakin groused. "Just shut up and leave me alone, okay? This back-and-forth we have going? Let's not," he said with finality.

Ventress set her lunch down on the caf table, making sure it was safely out of the range of Anakin's feet. "Fine," she said. "Find me something to sit on that isn't rancid, and we don't ever have to talk again."

Anakin seemed to consider this. "Promise?"

"From the bottom of my heart," Ventress said sarcastically. She straightened. "I mean it, though, Skywalker. This has to go above and beyond just turning the cushion over."

Anakin stood up. "That won't be a problem."

* * *

Garen Muln's private quarters were, if possible, in even worse shape than Anakin and Obi-Wan's. Refuse littered every conceivable surface, along with soiled laundry and an impressive assortment of paraphernalia, considering the Jedi Order's stance on having few personal belongings. Where Obi-Wan was horrified at the state of affairs in his living space, Garen's hovel seemed proud of its mess.

Ventress stepped on a fast food wrapper as she traipsed into the apartment before Anakin. "Eugh. There's no way anything in here is going to be in better shape than Kenobi's couch. You lied to me, Skywalker."

Anakin rolled his eyes, though his concentration was mainly focused on said couch, which he had half-floated, half-pushed to Garen's place. Now it was wedged snugly in the door frame. "It'll be fine. Help me with this," he ordered, motioning to the couch.

Ventress crossed her arms. "Are you thermal? I'm not lifting a finger without the Force. Besides," she snickered, "I'll break a nail."

"Look," Anakin said flatly, somewhat pleadingly, "Do you want a less-disgusting couch, or don't you?"

"I want many things," Ventress intoned. "Power. Revenge." She paused. "Actually, that about sums it up."

"Whatever. Here, take this side," Anakin coaxed. Grumbling, Ventress took up an end. Eyeballing the couch and the door, Anakin said, "Okay, now, twist it to the right." With a bit of grunting, Ventress began twisting the offending piece of furniture in the opposite direction Anakin was. "No!" he shouted. "The right! MY RIGHT!"

"You should have kriffing SAID that!" Ventress shouted back, giving the couch a hearty shove that would have sent it careening into Anakin's midsection had it not been firmly wedged in the doorway.

"MY RIGHT!" Anakin repeated, and began twisting again. After several minutes of fruitless maneuvering, he let go of his end and took a step back. "Okay," he said, "let's take the cushions off." Another few moments of finagling the upholstery left them no closer to their goal.

"This is so karking stupid," Ventress sneered. "Almost as stupid as you." She kicked at the couch and Anakin sighed.

"Well, let's take the legs off. I think they're just screwed in..." He hefted the couch back up. "Turn it, no, not that way, the other way!"

"What if we turned it long-ways?" Ventress suggested, breathing heavily. "And took the door off the hinges?"

Anakin made quick work of the door and laid it on the floor, but the couch remained firmly stuck. "Screw this," he muttered, pulling out his lightsaber. Two neat cuts in the couch sent it clattering to the ground, giving them enough room to maneuver the pieces into the apartment. "There," he said, once they'd moved Garen's couch from its original spot and set up their couch remnants in its place, covering it with a stained duvet. "He'll never know the difference."

"He must be even stupider than you are, then," Ventress sneered, and picked up one of the ends of Garen's couch to help move it out the door. "Turn it to the right," she instructed. "No, MY RIGHT, Skywalker!"

* * *

They'd left Garen's door where it was. It had taken a great deal of pushing and pulling and judicious use of the Force, but in the end, their goal had been achieved. Anakin was toasting his own success with what he figured was a well-deserved beer when Obi-Wan returned.

"It looks ... different in here," the elder Jedi observed, standing warily in the doorway. Aside from moving Garen's couch where its now-halved predecessor once sat, the room was in much the same state of disarray as before. Likely, it was Anakin's too-eager smile greeting Obi-Wan that was making him suspicious more than anything. "Is everything ... all right?" he ventured nervously.

Anakin turned up the wattage of his smile. "Everything's fine, Master! Just fine. Isn't everything fine, Ventress?" he asked, nodding at the assassin, who still seemed to be refusing patronage of the couch, if her occupying Obi-Wan's chair was any indication.

"No."

Anakin scoffed. "She's just being ... modest. Anyway, have a nice night, Master!" Cheerfully, he grabbed Obi-Wan's face with both hands and kissed him on the lips with a loud 'smack' sound before Obi-Wan could effectively push him away. Then he was off, nearly skipping down the hall.

Obi-Wan blinked. "What in the blazes," he muttered; he chanced a friendly look at Ventress, who just snickered.

"I'm sure he's off on a multiple day bender," she spat.

"Mmm," Obi-Wan mused. "Perhaps he has some friends in, er, HIGH places."

They were both laughing at the pun in spite of themselves when Anakin rushed back in suddenly. "Forgot my ..." he trailed off, glancing at the amused expressions on his Master's and his Master's wife's faces. "What's going on?" he asked.

Obi-Wan waved his hand. "Oh, it's nothing, Anakin, just ... just an in-joke." The indulgent grin he and Ventress shared gave Anakin an uneasy feeling. He floated his wallet to himself from the kitchen counter with the Force; Obi-Wan didn't even seem to be paying attention enough to yell at him for not picking it up manually.

"Well," he said awkwardly, "'Bye." Miffed, he left Obi-Wan and Ventress with a dramatic door slam. He doubted either of them noticed.


	9. Chapter 9: Pictures Come Alive

Herein lies the penultimate chapter of "Corellia"! Thank you to everyone who has added this 'fic to their Story Alerts and followed along. D and I laughed like loons plotting out these last couple of chapters - we hope they are half as enjoyable to everyone else!

Summary: A run-of-the-mill weekend excursion on the pleasure planet of Corellia results in consequences far more dire than Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi, and Ahsoka Tano anticipate when Obi-Wan ends up married to Asajj Ventress. Chapter Nine: There's something there that wasn't there before; also, Anakin visits an old friend. Rated PG-13.

* * *

**What Happens on Corellia**

_Chapter Nine: Pictures Come Alive_

_

* * *

_

"Ugh, gross," Ahsoka groaned, tossing a vomit-stained tunic into the washing unit. After her Master and had started complaining about the lack of clean garments in his and Master Obi-Wan's apartment (Master Obi-Wan had deemed it a disaster area long before that), she'd taken it upon herself to bring their dirty clothes down to the Temple's laundry room and wash them herself. Ahsoka had no idea why they didn't have the custodial 'droids take care of it; she suspected it was a refusal on their part to dig through her Master's mess to separate actual dirty clothing from, well, everything else. In any case, it got her out the apartment for a while, so she wouldn't complain too loudly.

Unfortunately, she could only really find time to do the small mountain of laundry during her shift with Ventress, since the rest of her time was taken up with class work. Ergo, she was obligated to bring the assassin along with her. "This whole pile smells like puuri cat dung," Ventress informed her, holding up a sock with two fingers and extending her arm as far as she could.

"Wouldn't be surprised," Ahsoka muttered darkly. She gingerly grabbed the offending garment from Ventress and tossed it into the machine she'd already filled with odds and ends. "I mean," she said caustically, "since everyone uses every available surface in the unit as a 'fresher. Because it's not like there's a perfectly good, working one, or anything."

Ventress crossed her arms. "Skywalker's the one with the shy bladder and an inability to pull himself out of his drunken stupors before he defecates all over himself," she shrugged.

"Oh, right," Ahsoka bit back, grunting a little as she hoisted an economy-sized tub of laundry detergent over her shoulder. "He's the one to blame for soiling the couch cushion and then trying to shove it down the garbage disposal, too." Ahsoka was still annoyed about what had driven her to take up refuge behind a locked door for most of the previous morning.

Ventress just 'tsk'ed. "Much anger I sense in you," she said mockingly. "I thought even younglings knew how to release their feelings into the Force in this craphole."

"I am not a youngling," Ahsoka said flatly. She finished filling up one machine and set it on its washing cycle, then dragged the still-full hamper to the next available washer. "Feel free to jump in at any time," she said sarcastically to Ventress, who had toted Obi-Wan's nail file along for the trip and was currently scrutinizing her pointer finger.

"Oh, that's quite all right. You go ahead," Ventress said smarmily, buffing her left hand.

Ahsoka let out a frustrated puff of air and began sorting Obi-Wan's clothing from Anakin's. She was entirely tempted to leave the fabric softener out of her Master's loads, but decided that the extra two seconds of effort was worth not having to listen to him complain about being itchy until it was time to do laundry again (that is, whenever she got badgered into doing it again). Dragging the hamper to the last free machines, Ahsoka bumped into a Teevan who was pulling some garments from the drier. "Oh, sorry," she said.

The Teevan glanced up, looked at Ventress, and blinked. "Uh, sure," he said. Ventress bared her teeth at him and he hurried out, leaving a trail of dropped socks in his wake.

"Oh look," Ventress said, picking one up, "free socks. These will fit perfectly into Skywalker's mouth while he sleeps."

Ahsoka snatched it away from her irritably. "Stop trying to smother him," she demanded, suddenly realizing the prospect didn't seem all that horrible. "He's too annoying to go that easily. You'll just be wasting your time."

Ventress' eyes gleamed. "It can't be any more wasted than it already is right now."

"Ha," Ahsoka said mirthlessly. She finished distributing the last of her sordid clothing piles and checked the chrono she kept on her utility belt. "This won't be too bad," she said, mostly to convince herself. She made her way to a small, rickety table and plunked down at the uncomfortable, circular bench attached to it.

Not to be ignored, Ventress began looking inside the other machines. "Hey, close that!" Ahsoka said shrilly, her fingers clenched more tightly than necessary around a writing utensil. "It won't dry properly if you don't."

"Not my problem," Ventress said silkily. She watched, amused as Ahsoka raised an open palm and slammed the dryer door shut anew. "Temper, temper."

"Don't you have something better to do than annoy me?" Ahsoka growled. She wasn't going to deny that five minutes with Ventress made her want to slaughter a factory full of battle droids, to say nothing of three (albeit, shortened) shifts every week. "Here, I have an extra book that I'm not using. Do you want to read a book?" she minced, intentionally condescending.

Ventress pulled open the dryer again.

"Aaahh!" Ahsoka balled her hands into fists and stared hard at her open book. When the assassin realized that she didn't have an audience anymore, she'd calm down. It was a technique Ahsoka had used on younglings and her Master alike for years.

Sure enough, Ventress eventually sauntered over and peered at Ahsoka's homework. Then she grabbed a loose piece of flimsi and tore off a corner before Ahsoka could stop her.

The Togruta slammed down her pencil. "Really?" she queried, eyes flashing. "That was really necessary? Why can't you make this arrangement just one iota better than the extremely unfortunate circumstances allow? WHY!" she screamed.

Ventress was silent for a long moment. "Petty annoyances are something I can still accomplish without the Force. You're out of your jurisdiction, orange girl."

"Grrr." Ahsoka glared up at her opponent. "That doesn't mean you HAVE to do it!"

Ventress smirked. "True. But I get such a great reaction out of you," she cooed, patting Ahsoka on the head. Ahsoka noticeably resisted the urge to strike her. "See?" Ventress observed. "You and Nipples react much better than Kenobi."

Ahsoka blinked. "That's it, isn't it?" she said slowly, picking up her pencil again. "It's all about goading Master Obi-Wan." She hid a small smile. "You like him."

"What." Ventress glowered and kicked the now-empty clothing hamper. "I do not."

"Mmm." Ahsoka looked down at her homework again, now fully engaged in it. Ventress tugged open the rest of the dryers, threw a few articles around the room, and then sat on the ground in a lotus position and closed her eyes.

"You meditate?" Ahsoka asked, flabbergasted in spite of herself.

Ventress opened one eye. "What's it to you, popsicle?" she asked.

"Ugh, never mind."

When everything she'd lugged there was properly laundered - more than her Master deserved, really - Ahsoka struggled under the weight of the hamper once more. She didn't bother to ask Ventress for help. "Get the door, will you?" she asked. The Temple's outermost laundry room swung shut behind the wannabe-Sith lord, who didn't bother to look behind her. The corner caught on the wooden wedge Ahsoka had placed there to keep it from locking; it remained like that for most of the afternoon, until Granta Omega kicked it aside on his way out of the Temple.

* * *

  
Garen, apparently, had never gotten around to fixing his door. Although, Anakin had to admit, he'd at least gone ahead and leaned it against the wall next to the doorway. He wasn't particularly surprised one way or the other. It eliminated the need for knocking, in any case.

"What happened to your door?" he asked, trying to gauge if Garen had figured out what had happened in his apartment the week before.

Garen, sprawled out over the three broken couch sections, made a non-committal "I dunno," sound and shrugged. Anakin shrugged as well, realizing that Garen really did not have any idea why his door was no longer closing properly, or at all.

"Anyway, can I hang here for a while?" Anakin asked, carefully picking his way across the debris-littered floor. While he really, really enjoyed not having to babysit Ventress anywhere near as much anymore, he was still a little worn out from having to be the Chancellor's personal tech support guy. He liked Palpatine, he really did, considered the man to be a paternal figure, but he was also very old, and very computer-illiterate. Quite frankly, with his decreased Ventress-watching workload, Anakin was exhausted.

"If you want," Garen replied, gesturing to the trash-strewn chair across from the couch remnants. Waving his hand, he summoned a case of beer from the kitchen with the Force. "So have Oafy and Baldy consummated their love yet?" he asked once he knew Anakin's mouth was full.

Anakin choked and Garen laughed. "Fuck you, Muln," Anakin complained. "That is the most kriffing disgusting thing I've ever heard."

"Who do you think tops?" Garen continued, and Anakin grimaced. "Baldy, probably. I bet she uses a strap-on. Or Oafy's lightsaber. I bet they're into some kinky shit." He rubbed his hands together gleefully.

Anakin shook his head in wordless horror. "There isn't enough beer in the galaxy for this conversation," he said.

"Whips and chains and shit like that. They probably do it while you're not home," Garen added.

Anakin blinked. "I ... that ... And now it's in my head." He looked down at his beer. "Got any whiskey?" he asked hoarsely. He didn't think the idea of Ventress rogering his Master with something plastisteel and purple would ever un-sear itself from his brain.

Garen shook his head. "Negative, Commander."

"Kriff," Anakin muttered. He held his breath and said a silent prayer to the Force before choosing the least damaged portion of the couch to perch on. "Do you know anybody who would have whiskey around here?" he sighed a moment later.

Garen burped. "Anywhere they serve alcohol?"

Anakin waved his hand. "I'm totally tapped out. Between Ventress-sitting and helping the Chancellor with his holocomputer, I've barely had time to party." He knew he didn't have to explain to Garen the impetus behind being the Outlander's "special guest" in the go-go cages every so often. Garen got the need for a disposable income - he was a pretty bad Jedi himself, after all.

"Well," Garen shrugged, tossing the now-empty can he'd just crushed with his fist off to the side and grabbing up the remaining ones in the ripped box by his feet and standing up. "Then there's only one resource we have yet to exhaust."

* * *

  
To a novice, the outside of Siri Tachi's quarters were nondescript. The casual passerby would have no reason to suspect what lurked just beyond the sturdy safety of the door. Garen, however, knew better.

"S'okay, just remember not to look her in the eyes. I did once, a coupla years ago, and I barely got out of there alive."

Anakin hedged. "Look, I haven't, er, been back here since her Padawan left the Order. I don't know if this is such a good idea."

Garen stroked his chin. "Oh yeah, I heard about that. You what, killed someone, right?"

"She DIED after a valiant battle," Anakin bristled. He swallowed his anger. "And then Tru and Ferus blamed it on me. Tru won't talk to me anymore," he said, his voice whiny.

"Well!" Garen clapped him on the back. "No time like the present, I always say." He plunked the awkwardly balanced box of beer into Anakin's arms. "Remember, don't just hand it to her; put it on the ground like an offering and slowly slide it towards her. Good luck."

Anakin gulped.

Garen rapped on the door with his knuckles. "Siri. Hey, Trashy! It's Muln, open up!" He knocked again, louder this time, and the door creaked open a sliver. "I know you're in there, Trashy," he sing-songed. "C'mon, open up!"

"Who's with you?" a raspy voice croaked, the single visible eye darting around. "I can smell someone else with you."

Anakin cleared his throat and surreptitiously sniffed his armpits while Garen said, "Never mind that. Just open the door, huh?"

After a long moment, the door slid open a bit more. "Now! Now!" Garen hissed at Anakin, gesturing to the door. Anakin knelt down and put the case of beer on the floor, shoving it forwards until it hit a pair of bare feet that looked like they could use a good anti-fungal treatment. Or five.

The door swung open more until all of Master Tachi was visible. Her grody-ass feet were attached to legs that looked like they hadn't been shaved since the day Ferus left. She also had a beer belly, and stubble on her upper lip; her hands appeared to have suffered the results of a self-press-on nail set, with half of said nails gone, and the others bitten and outgrown. Siri's hair was dishwater blonde and looked like it had been washed in the same; she was dressed in a faded pair of boxers that Anakin suspected were actually Ferus', and a soiled wife beater.

She squinted at Anakin. He tried not to make a face. "F-Ferus?" she rasped phlegmatically. Dirty hands made grabbing motions towards him, and Anakin considered running for it. "Ferus, is that you?"

"No, I'm not Ferus, I'm-"

"Yeah, Siri, it's Ferus!" Garen interrupted. He shoved Anakin forward; terrified, he stood stock-still as Siri leaned in and sniffed him. The mental image of a mother gundark he and Obi-Wan had once fought was omnipresent in Anakin's head.

Finally, Siri seemed to approve, though she continued to squint, as if her eyes had grown accustomed to what looked like a dank, late-afternoon-dark apartment. "Come in," she told them, tugging slightly on Anakin's tunic sleeve.

"Do I have to?" Anakin muttered to Garen, wrinkling his nose.

"Do you want hard alcohol?" Garen prodded.

Anakin sighed and stepped inside.

* * *

  
"Run, Skywalker! For the love of pittins and newborn younglings, RUN!"

"Well, how was I supposed to know what she meant by 'reuniting'?! I didn't even know her and Olin used to knock boots!"

"What else would it mean?!"

"And you, you were just going to sit there and watch while she took me against my will on the caf table!"

"She could have just done it, too, if you hadn't looked her in the eyes!"

"I hate you!"

* * *

  
Much as he loathed admitting it, Zan Arbor had been right about the ease with which Granta had been able to move around the Temple. He blended in almost seamlessly, hidden in the folds of an oversized cloak. The Jedi, he thought, really needed to look into a better security system, otherwise any doofus in a Jedi robe could march right in and burn the place to the ground.

Seeing as how he was virtually undetectable, Granta couldn't help but explore a bit before carrying out his task. After all, his father had lived here, and this was the seat of power for the one organization Granta wanted nothing more than to see destroyed. Or at least a couple of key members destroyed, at any rate.

He was admiring one of the many frescos depicting the Jedi Order's history when he heard a familiar voice carrying down the hallway. He slipped into an alcove and watched as Obi-Wan Kenobi and that Ventress woman walked past, their hands practically brushing against each other. Kenobi said something Granta couldn't quite make out, and Ventress let out a short, raspy laugh. That didn't look like the actions of someone who was being held against her will, Granta decided.

He'd lucked out when the assassin had left the laundry room door ajar. He'd been tracking Kenobi and company for much longer, but the building access had been a sticking point. Once inside, Omega wasted little time procuring the blood samples that Zan Arbor wanted from the Healer's wing, and even copying down some notes from the medical files of both Kenobi and Skywalker, as well as the folder shoved inside of Kenobi's file for the assassin. (He'd decided the Togruta brat wasn't important one way or the other.)

He contacted Zan Arbor once he was carefully secreted in the confines of the Orange District. If asked, he planned to tell her that he had gathered "data" from the Outlander, where Skywalker was well-known to patronize. He'd ignored the handful of times she'd attempted contact over the past few days, mostly just to annoy her; as he expected, she was edgy when she saw his image through the secure commlink channel she'd set up for him to use, eager for information.

"What have you found out?" So much for twenty questions.

"I've got something you don't have," Granta teased, plucking one of the vials from the folds of his cloak - one of his own; he'd discarded the one from the Temple in an alleyway already - and dangling it for Zan Arbor's benefit.

Zan Arbor scowled, an impressive feat considering all of the cosmetic surgery she'd undergone. "So why are you not in my office right now?" she asked, quirking an eyebrow at him.

Granta shrugged. "We're going to discuss my payment," he said. Truthfully, he didn't need the money. Even if he did, Zan Arbor always paid handsomely for his services. No, it was the principle of the thing. Besides, he had some gossip he wasn't going to part with for free.

"You're not getting anything extra, Granta," Zan Arbor snapped. "You know that."

Granta smirked. "What if I told you that Dooku's little pet seems to have blurred allegiances," he replied. "Surely the details are worth something."

Zan Arbor leaned forward in her seat, and Granta could tell he had her interest. "I'll give you double if you're telling the truth," she said, and Granta could practically hear the gears turning in her head. He knew she was going to turn right around and blackmail Dooku; she wouldn't have offered such a high price otherwise.

"Oh, it's the truth," he assured her. "I saw them practically boning each other right in the hallway." Okay, not entirely true, but a nice bit of theatrics nonetheless.

Sure enough, Zan Arbor's brows rose appreciatively - again, commendable, given the amount of "self-improvement" she'd bestowed upon herself over the years. "You have three rotations to get back here."

"Five rotations," Granta said petulantly.

"Four, or I cut your initial salary in half," his employer groused.

"Four rotations it is," Granta promised, and then cut the connection. He pocketed the commlink and smirked to himself - the seeds had been sown. He was sure Zan Arbor would use the information he provided her with to her best possible advantage ... the information she decided not to keep to herself, at least. She was probably contacting Dooku right now.

Vaguely, he wondered if there really WAS anything substantial going on between Obi-Wan and Ventress. He didn't care much about the assassin - he was a businessman, like his father, not a scientist, after all; it didn't matter to him whether the serum worked or not - but ... the idea that Obi-Wan Kenobi, the ever-calm Master of the Force, the Negotiator, He Who Could Not Be Phased was, in fact, emotionally attached to another being, and the enemy, at that was most fascinating. Still, Granta knew not to overstay his welcome.

At the same time, he wasn't going to let Zan Arbor think she could control him. Sauntering into a shady-looking establishment a few blocks down from the Outlander, Granta ordered a drink and made himself comfortable in the bar's dimly-lit airspace. He'd give Zan Arbor the data she craved - when he felt like it.

* * *

  
"Stop that," Obi-Wan instructed tiredly as Ventress stabbed her fork into the tabletop for the umpteenth time. He carefully balanced two bowls of soup and a pair of glasses and set them on the table, narrowly avoiding getting a fork in his hand. "Could we possibly make an attempt to be civil?" he asked, knowing it was a near-impossible request.

In the past months, the three of them living in the apartment had been basically foraging for meals on their own, ordering takeout, bringing things back from the Temple cafeteria, or in Anakin's case, making an unholy mess in the oven trying to cook. Obi-Wan had decided it was high time he had a decent meal, and if had to share it with Ventress, well, at least it meant he'd get to eat something besides reheated diner food.

Ventress grabbed up the bowl he set in front of her immediately, not waiting for accompanying utensils, and began slurping it down. "Honestly," Obi-Wan sighed. "I know you have it in you to be civilized. How about you give it a try?"

Ventress grunted at him and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. "That doesn't completely suck," she said, gesturing to the bowl. "Thanks for not poisoning me, I guess."

Obi-Wan grimaced. "We haven't gotten to the entree yet," he informed her blandly. She quirked her eyebrow, watching him shuffle expertly around the small kitchen area. Those who were well-acquainted with Obi-Wan knew that he enjoyed cooking, the kind that took the entire afternoon to prepare correctly. It was not a practical pastime with him being such a public face of the war and all, but that just made the occasions in which he could indulge even more impressive.

"Why are you being nice to me?" Ventress said with disdain, but she didn't have to be told twice that dinner was prepared - Obi-Wan watched her scarf down food voraciously. "S'not like you care."

Obi-Wan shrugged. "I simply wanted a warm dinner for once. If it's not pleasing to you ..." he began, reaching towards Ventress' plate.

The assassin nearly impaled Obi-Wan's hand with her fork. "Touch it and die," she warned, words slightly muffled by food.

Obi-Wan allowed himself a small smile and sat down across from her. "Well, then," he said, spreading his napkin across his lap and rubbing his hands together in anticipation. It had been far too long since he'd had a decent meal, despite the company rivaling Anakin for poorest table manners in the galaxy. He watched, bemused, as Ventress wolfed down the food. "There's more if you would like," he offered. Sometimes one had to fight the uncouth with civility, after all.

Ventress nodded, holding out her plate and not meeting his eyes. His fingers accidentally brushed hers as he took her plate and she didn't jerk away for a whole half-second, the touch lingering for what felt like a dozen heartbeats. "There's dessert as well," Obi-Wan said, suddenly, inexplicably, flustered.

"I'll get to dessert when I get to dessert," Ventress snapped.

Obi-Wan nodded. "Right. Of course," he said, his voice soft, placating. For once, Ventress didn't call him on it. Instead, she backed off and continued to eat, even in a slightly more relaxed fashion. Obi-Wan took the opportunity to study her. In many ways, she reminded him of Anakin: Brash, obstinate, powerful but uncontrolled, and extremely emotional. Also, they both loved food. He supposed that's why he was drawn to her; it wasn't an attraction so much - though that was definitely there, too, try as he might to deny it. No, Ventress represented the 'what if', the idea that, had circumstances just been slightly skewed, Anakin could have been taken in by the Sith instead of the Jedi.

He visibly shivered. Ventress glared at him. "What?"

"Hmm?" Obi-Wan wiped his mouth and glanced at her politely.

Ventress glowered. "Why are you shaking?" she demanded, between tearing bites of the main course from the utensil with her teeth.

Obi-Wan shrugged. "It's irrelevant." He stared into his cup of hot tea. "On the other hand," he said slowly, "there is the matter of a Senatorial Ball that we might discuss. The Jedi have been extended an invitation by the Supreme Chancellor, and-"

"You don't need to patronize me, Kenobi. I was there," Ventress barked.

"Of course," Obi-Wan said contritely. He dropped all pretenses of polite conversation: "Would you like to accompany me there, Asajj?"

Ventress' fork clattered against her now-empty plate. "Are you thermal? Did you flip a coin with Skywalker and the orange thing?" she sneered.

Obi-Wan collected both sets of dirty dishes and brought them to the kitchen, and then began preparing their dessert on smaller plates. "If you do not wish to attend, I will tuck in here that evening," he shrugged. "I merely assumed you would welcome the change of scenery."

Ventress raised an eyebrow. "I suppose my Force suppressor will have to be recalibrated? Are you sure I've been a good enough slave?" she minced.

Obi-Wan set a dessert plate in front of her. "I am trying to make this arrangement as comfortable as possible for all parties involved. You are still a prisoner of war," he said blandly, still hedging around the implications of anyone as his 'slave'. "And a very difficult one, at that." At this, Ventress smiled, pleased with herself. Obi-Wan sat down and slid a bite of his own dessert into his mouth. "But again, the choice is ultimately yours."

Without responding, Ventress finished off her own piece of pie and speared a chunk of the Jedi's. "Fine," she spat, pieces of pastry flying across the small table. "I'll go."

"Wonderful," Obi-Wan intoned, brushing a bit of crust off of his cheek.

* * *

  
"Thanks for helping me, Senator!" Ahsoka chirped, leading Padme through the Temple's cafeteria. They'd spent the afternoon together, Ahsoka letting Padme assist her in finding something suitable to wear to the Senatorial Ball, since apparently her normal Jedi garb wasn't appropriate. Being a Togruta meant being humanoid enough to wear styles designed for human women, but just alien enough that said styles had to be chosen carefully. Luckily, Padme had a good eye for color and form and had enough patience to spend the day helping Ahsoka pick something - Ahsoka didn't feel like a tag-along or a nuisance around Senator Amidala, the way she sometimes did when her Master was trying to teach her something. Also, it was nice to talk to another female who wasn't constantly trying to kill her and/or escape from the Temple.

"Oh, it was my pleasure entirely," Padme replied graciously, looking around the large open room. "I've never been in this part of the Temple," she admitted.

Ahsoka couldn't help take the bait. "Oh, so Master Anakin's never brought you?" she asked. She knew full well her Master and Padme had a... thing. So far, neither of them had come right out and admitted it to her, even though she was pretty sure they both knew that *she* knew.

Padme scowled slightly. "No," she said shortly. "He doesn't bring me much of anywhere."

Ahsoka blanched; the implications were all too serious, and she didn't want to compromise their friendship or the day they'd just spent shopping together. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, I don't think most Senators get beyond the Council chambers part of the tour," she said, waving her hand and giving a little, slightly forced laugh. Padme gave her a small smile in return. Crisis averted.

"Do you want to sit by the windows?" Ahsoka pointed across the room, and began weaving between bodies under the assumption that Padme would follow. "I enjoy being in the sun." She turned around anew when she sensed that the Senator had stopped. "Is anything the matter?" she asked. Her gaze followed Padme's, and suddenly she realized what had attracted her attention: A slight, extraordinarily unkempt woman about Master Obi-Wan's age stood near the dessert cart, an ungainly expression on her face. As Padme and Ahsoka watched, she picked up a pudding cup and began slopping it into her gaping mouth, using her fingers as a poor utensil substitute.

"What're you lookin' at?" she snarled at a youngling, who looked conflictedly back and forth between the untouched pudding cups and the Master (?) with flashing, crazy eyes and ragweed hair. Sure enough, the child beat a hasty retreat a moment later when the woman bent over the cart and shoved her hands intermittently into the remaining desserts. "Raaauurrrgh!" she yelled, her mouth and the front of her tunic dripping with food. The youngling screamed and fled the cafeteria.

Ahsoka heard Padme sigh. "Siri," she murmured, shaking her head sadly. Ahsoka was about to ask for clarification, but continued to watch the wild woman - Siri - devour literally everything she could touch. Nearby, a blue-skinned alien was picking up a lunch tray; with a sense of déjà vu, Ahsoka realized it was the same Teevan she'd seen in the a Temple laundry room.

The Teevan and Siri made eye contact. "Y-youuuuuu," Siri suddenly boomed. "YOU KILLED HER. YOU KILLED THEM BOTH!" Paling considerably, the Teevan dropped his food and sprinted across the cafeteria, ducking and weaving through tables and other beings in a complicated way so as to discourage Siri from trailing him. Beating her chest a few times to assert her dominance, Siri picked up the discarded tray and carried it, whistling, to a nearby table. Occupants of neighboring ones quickly found excuses to be elsewhere.

Ahsoka smiled meekly at Padme. "Welcome to the rest of the Temple?" she sighed.

* * *

  
Dooku was irritated. His star assassin had failed at a very basic mission - rather, she'd accidentally completed half of it correctly, and then made it ten times more complicated by getting herself doused in Zan Arbor's serum. Meanwhile, the scientist seemed to be smugly holding it over his head that she knew more about what was going on with Skywalker, Kenobi and Ventress than he did - the nearly hour-long correspondence he'd had with her had left him grumpy, and crouching for long periods of time in a conciliatory position for his own Master made him feel sore and, well, old.

It didn't help that Palpatine, nee Lord Sidious, seemed preoccupied, his answers delayed by what Dooku eventually figured out was him fiddling with his ancient computer. "You will not be able to attend the Senatorial Ball, of course, Lord Tyrannus," the Sith Lord rasped, keys clacking loudly under his geriatric fingers in the background. "However, you will be busy in the interim, nonetheless."

"Yes, my Lord." Dooku could read between the lines: He was supposed to set in motion a number of menial tasks that Ventress would attend to when she was freed from the Jedi's surprisingly iron-fisted grip. "I am merely ... concerned that I have yet to make more than spotty contact with my assassin," Dooku admitted aloud.

Palpatine did not answer immediately. "I have observed Ventress myself," he told Dooku matter-of-factly. "I was able to transmit the information necessary for her to initiate her own escape during the Ball. I expect you both to be at the ready immediately after she has managed this."

"What sort of information?" Dooku asked.

This time, his Master's reply was swift, angry. "That is none of your concern, my apprentice."

"Of course, my Lord." Dooku gritted his teeth, wobbling on his knee. Palpatine seemed to sense his discomfort and smirked. "What do you wish for me to do about the scientist, Master?"

"Hmm." Palpatine seemed thoughtful. "She is hiding something. Once Ventress is freed, have her find out what it is. Then she can be dispatched."

"She could be of further assistance, my Lord." It wasn't that Dooku particularly liked Zan Arbor; he just knew how difficult it was to find somebody worth the trouble they'd gone through to protect Zan Arbor from her many brushes with the law. The woman had helped them a great deal in the past.

Palpatine just scowled. "She is too impressed with her own abilities. It has made her fool-hardy. We have no further need for her services."

"Yes, my Master."

There was a long pause. Dooku silently hoped their conversation was nearly finished - he did not appreciate being dressed down. "Lord Tyrannus, I explicitly told you NOT to download anymore programs on my computer," Palpatine rasped.

"I - I have not, my Lord." Dooku looked up in surprise.

Palpatine's hologram glowered at him. "Then why do I keep having to close HoloMessenger? It is even YOUR screen name - 'I have a ro-bo-claw'," he squinted, reading the moniker slowly.

Dooku cursed under his breath. Suddenly it all made sense. At the same time, there was no point in inspiring his Master's ire any further. "I apologize, my Lord," he said, bowing his head respectfully. "I will remove the program the next time I am able."

"Don't bother," Sidious said dismissively. "I can have Anakin do it." He cut the connection. Dooku eased himself off of his now-throbbing leg and stood; he closed his eyes and sighed deeply. Curse Skywalker, he thought grimly. Curse him to the seven Hells.


	10. Chapter 10: Dancing For My Life

Well, here it is, the final chapter of the "Corellia" 'fic. Thank you to everyone who has followed along. The whole experience was a lot of fun; we'll have to do this again next summer, or something similar.

Also, to answer any pre-emptive questions about a sequel: No, we do not have any plans or interest in writing one. We do have other stories published that follow a similar universe, however - for my co-writer's sole projects, feel free to browse my "Favorite Authors" list for Diena Taylor. Our characters tend to be most influenced heavily by Jude Watson's "Jedi Apprentice"/"Jedi Quest"/"Last of the Jedi" books, as well as Dave Filoni's vision of the Star Wars universe in the new "Clone Wars" cartoon. We like the EU and tend to base both our 'fics and our roleplaying plots and characters off of details gleaned from it. Also, we have a hefty list of still more stuff to write for Star Wars fandom. Basically, we'll be back, just not specifically in the "Corellia" timeline. Anyway, without further ado ...

Summary: A run-of-the-mill weekend excursion on the pleasure planet of Corellia results in consequences far more dire than Anakin Skywalker, Obi-Wan Kenobi, and Ahsoka Tano anticipate when Obi-Wan ends up married to Asajj Ventress. Chapter Ten: On the night of the Senatorial Ball, all stops will be pulled out. Written with D. Rated PG-13.

* * *

**What Happens on Corellia**

_Chapter Ten: Dancing For My Life_

_

* * *

_

The Senate banquet hall was completely decked out with the kind of ostentatious elegance reserved only for the super-rich and highly powerful. Serving 'droids weaved their way through the crowds of formal-garbed party-goers, brandishing trays of hors d'oeuvres and drinks.

Anakin stopped short at the threshold, causing Ahsoka, who had been trailing him, to crash squarely into his back. "Watch it, Snips," he said sharply, to which she simply sighed. After a long moment of peering over the crowd, during which time a small group had formed behind him trying to jostle its way collectively through the door, he spotted her. "Go have fun," he instructed Ahsoka, and jogged to where Padme was standing by the buffet table, wine glass in her manicured hand.

"Hey," he said once he reached her, suddenly feeling awkward. It felt strange that he'd been on Coruscant for nearly six months and had only seen his wife once. They were usually much better at utilizing his time spent on-planet.

Padme looked up, then away. "Oh," she said. "Hello, Ani." Her free hand toyed with her necklace. "I'm glad you could make it."

She didn't sound particularly glad, Anakin thought, but he decided not to call her on it. He spent precious little time with her as it was, anyway. "Haven't seen you in a while," he said instead. "I'd thought since I was on-planet that we'd..."

"I've been really busy," Padme said quickly and Anakin couldn't help feeling slightly stung. "My mother and sister came to visit, on top of a whole mess of legislation I'm trying to get passed, and I've been a little overwhelmed." Then she launched into a long tirade about her sister Sola, during which Anakin found himself zoning out and eating an entire tray full of little pieces of meat wrapped in other pieces of meat on toothpicks, nodding and "uh-huhing" at appropriate intervals.

"My mother keeps asking me why I haven't settled down with a nice man and had children like my stupid sister," Padme griped, snatching another wine glass from a passing 'droid. "I keep telling her there are no nice men on Coruscant, and Sola was pregnant for months before she got married, which, according to Naboo tradition, makes her a little skanky."

"Don't you think you can trust your parents enough to tell them the truth?" Anakin asked, shoving a cracker topped with what he strongly suspected with still-living sea life into his mouth.

Padme gave him a dirty look. "And then I'll get to spend the rest of my life being hassled about not telling them sooner," she said, draining her glass and replacing it with another. "I'm so glad I only have to deal with *my* parents," she informed him.

Anakin blinked at her. "What's that supposed to mean?" he asked.

Padme sighed in annoyance. "Nothing," she said. "I didn't mean anything by it. Don't be so sensitive, Ani!"

Frowning deeply, Anakin grabbed Padme by the elbow and led her to a more private area. "You just basically said you were glad my mother is dead," he hissed at her.

"No I did not!" Padme replied sharply. "I was just saying I was glad that we don't have two sets of parents stressing us out!"

"Which implies you're glad she's dead," Anakin responded, his voice measured. Part of him knew he was overreacting, but he couldn't help it. He'd hoped his reuniting with Padme - at a really good party, no less - would be fun, but he hadn't had one bit of fun since he'd gotten here.

"You are overreacting, as usual," Padme proclaimed.

Anakin snorted. "Oh, I'm overreacting?" he bit out. "You're the one who acts SO put upon just because your family cares about you. That's so HARD. What a saint." Faintly, he wondered whether it had been a good idea to 'warm up' on shots at a rickety tavern prior to the party. His tongue seemed looser than normal; judging by Padme's bulging eyes, he wasn't the only one to notice.

* * *

Across the room, Obi-Wan, who had entered at a different time and door than Anakin, dutifully made his rounds with Ventress in tow. Though sullen, Ahsoka had dropped off an outfit for the assassin to wear that she'd found on her own shopping excursion. Obi-Wan had goggled at Ventress when she'd stomped out of the 'fresher. Sleek and dark purple, it clung to her slim frame; there were slits up the sides and an artsy tear in the fabric's bust; already, Ventress had smirked meanly at him for being preoccupied by her breasts.

The pair was intercepted by Bail Organa and Breha. Bail was dressed in rich-looking royal Alderaanian garb, complete with a cape; Breha looked dreamy, yet aristocratic, her hair done up in an immaculate spectacle that rivaled the 'do Obi-Wan had seen Padme sporting. He knew Senator Amidala had impressed upon Ahsoka the importance of dressing up; he'd resisted and worn some of his less-ragged Jedi clothing, and now realized that this set him apart. Normally, it did not bother him to be around wealth - he found it dull, but was not intimidated by the rich. Still, he sensed that Ventress was noting and judging his behavior, and it exacerbated how out of place he felt. It shouldn't have bothered him; he didn't exactly know WHY it was even a sticking point, what Ventress thought, but there it was.

"Obi-Wan!" Bail's appreciation for him, at least, was sincere. "How nice to see you."

Obi-Wan gave Bail a grateful smile. He hadn't been able to speak to his friend - or anyone outside the Temple at all, in fact - in some time, and it was a relief to know that he wasn't going to have to make uncomfortable small-talk with politicians he didn't know all night. "A pleasure, Bail," he replied, and bowed politely to Breha. "You're looking lovely, Your Highness," he told her.

Breha, though, was not paying him any attention. Instead, she was fixated on Ventress. More specifically, she was fixated on Ventress' midsection. "Such a joyous time," she said breathily. "Take care your bun doesn't burn."

Bail looked suitably mortified, and Ventress scowled. "*What*?" she snapped, and Obi-Wan resisted the urge to correct her tone.

"Forgive me," Bail said quickly, taking Breha's arm. "She no longer allows me to put her medication in her food, so..." Obi-Wan briefly wondered if food-drugging was the answer to his problems with both Ventress and Anakin, then pushed it out of his mind.

"No worries," he replied instead. "It's a lovely party, isn't it?" As Bail allowed him to change the subject to more coherent topics, Ventress and Breha continued to stare at each other.

* * *

"This is ridiculous," Mace Windu scowled, looking around at the decadent scene before him. "We're at war and all these people care about is maintaining their wealth." He looked down at Yoda, who was dressed in his best robes, a small ceramic bantha wearing a top hat clutched in his claws. "Well?" Windu said, after the small, green creature stayed silent. "Doesn't it bother you?"

"Mmm," Yoda said noncommittally. "Likes the music, Steve does." He wiggled the bantha figure's little hat. Scowling, Windu stomped towards the nearest refreshments table, swiping a glass of something dark and downing it in two gulps. Across the table a ways, he saw Skywalker, who seemed to be pouting at the Naboo Senator he spent way too much time around for it not to be suspicious. Windu narrowed his eyes. He'd hardly forgotten over the past half a year that Skywalker had had perhaps the best chance at keeping a clear head during the whole mess with Kenobi and Ventress, and had succeeded at doing the exact opposite at every turn. If it had been up to him, the kid would never have become a Jedi.

"Master Windu! How wonderful to see you." Speak of the devil. Windu pinched the bridge of his nose and groaned, and then straightened slightly as Chancellor Palpatine came closer. The man had only just begun his now unusually long term in his current office when Anakin had first come to the Temple, and could hardly be blamed for the fact that he was still there. And yet, it annoyed Windu when the Senator-cum-Supreme Chancellor made himself a too-prevalent feature in Jedi affairs, and it was never more obvious than when Anakin was concerned, at least these days.

Palpatine's wilted hand on his shoulder was clammy, yet surprisingly strong. "Welcome, Chancellor," Windu said curtly, teeth gritted.

"A lovely affair, don't you think?" Palpatine asked, smarmily, and Windu had to swallow his ire. "It's always nice to be able to forget our troubles, even if just for a short time."

"I would better be able to forget our troubles if the war were over," Windu grunted, looking furtively around the room for an excuse to leave the conversation.

"Of course," Palpatine replied. "But I have faith that your Order will soon set the galaxy right again."

Sighing, Windu nodded. "It is our hope," he agreed, then spotted Kit Fisto's arrival. "If you'll excuse me, Chancellor," he said, walking away before the old man could respond.

* * *

"Maybe you should slow down on the snacks, Ani," Padme said critically, peering at him over the rim of her glass. "You haven't been able to work out as much as usual, you know."

She couldn't believe she was still standing here talking to him, really. Unfortunately, Bail Organa was still caught up in conversation with Obi-Wan, and she couldn't find Ahsoka in the bustling crowd. That left her with the one option, not that Anakin was going to let her go easily anyway.

"So now I'm fat," Anakin grunted. "Wizard. I'm really glad I didn't marry somebody hung up on looks." He searched around for a serving 'droid, snatching up two glasses of something Padme wouldn't touch if she'd had a blaster held to her head.

"I don't want that," she informed him, gesturing to her wine. "I'm fine."

Scowling, Anakin knocked back both drinks in quick succession. "Who said I got them for you?" he snapped. "Besides, I think you've had enough wine for both of us."

He might have been right, but Padme wasn't about to be lectured by someone whose own habits were highly suspect. "How else am I supposed to endure this insipid conversation?" She couldn't help laughing as Anakin pouted anew. "Why don't you go entertain yourself, Ani?" she suggested. "It's probably best if we're not seen together too much."

"Yeah," Anakin snarled. "Wouldn't want anyone to think we're *married* or anything."

Padme frowned at him, her eyes bleary. "Well, Ani, we really DON'T," she told him point-blank. "It's kind of a big deal that we keep it a secret."

"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" He'd reached the point where he wasn't even sure why he was arguing anymore; at the same time, he was too immersed in his own ego to simply step off. He snuffled and turned away rudely. "Maybe you'd just like to not be around me at all."

"Anakin, that's ridiculous," Padme scoffed. She held out her glass to a passing 'droid to be topped off for the umpteenth time. "You're just, you're ridiculous."

"'m not," Anakin muttered, his back turned. He was buzzed himself, now, the alcohol making his spine feel fuzzy and his lips a little numb. He decided he didn't want to argue anymore. "You're ... pretty," he said to his wife, spinning around too quickly and then lurching forward as it threw off his vertigo. "I like your dress."

Padme seemed wary, one hand poised on her hip. "You're ... weird, Ani," she frowned. She fanned herself a little. "It's hot in here," she murmured. She was about to excuse herself for some fresh air when Ahsoka came bounding over, looking exuberant in the filmy, blue shimmersilk gown her and Padme had picked out together. "Hi, Senator!" she chirped, and then in a less excited tone, "Master."

"Heya, Snips," Anakin intoned, and then belched. The air smelled faintly of lunch meats after that. Ahsoka just blinked; Padme, inhibitions down, waved her hand rapidly in front of her face and glared.

"You're weird and *gross*," Padme informed him, and turned to Ahsoka, moving her body in such a way that completely excluded Anakin from the conversation. "Hi, sweetie," she said, swaying slightly. "You look very pretty this evening."

Ahsoka smiled at the compliment. "You do too, Senator," she said.

"Don't I look pretty?" Anakin asked, trying to push himself between Ahsoka and Padme.

Padme huffed a sigh and elbowed him aside. She was completely not in the mood to cater to Anakin's odd manifestations of narcissism tonight, and was just tipsy enough to make the point very clear. Or as clear as anything ever was for her husband, at least.

"I'm so glad I was invited," Ahsoka continued, and Padme let her prattle away about all the people she'd met so far, shooting daggers at Anakin over the Togruta's head.

"So, uh, I'm gonna go," Anakin said, gesturing over his shoulder towards the bar. "I'm gonna go talk to the Chancellor or something, so, uh, I guess I'll catch you later." Throughout his fumbling attempt at a goodbye, Ahsoka talked over him. Padme couldn't have been more grateful.

* * *

A couple of hours passed. Anakin had long stopped avidly participating in conversation, and was now in a corner, inconspicuously huffing something out of a bag that he'd picked up in the Orange District for the occasion. At one point, Ahsoka stood over him, frowning disapprovingly. She sounded and looked like an orange version of Obi-Wan, and had left in a huff, hands balled into (orange) fists, when Anakin told her as much.

Master Yoda was dancing in a slow semi-circle to a rowdy song with Steve the bantha, whose top hat seems to have been misplaced. Ventress stood with a reluctant-looking Obi-Wan at one of the food tables, shoveling refreshments into her mouth. "I have to pee," she announced abruptly to a small cluster of people, and Obi-Wan groaned, wondering if he should apologize, and then deciding that she wasn't his Padawan.

In another corner of the banquet hall, Padme stood - wobbled - near Bail and Breha, who smiled indulgently at her. "What are you going to name it?" she asked hazily. Padme clutched her oft-refilled wine goblet a little too tightly and let out a sharp peal of laughter.

Bail grimaced. "Honey, remember what we talked about; it's not nice to tell people they look pregnant."

"Hey, 'f you've got somethin' to say to ... me, then jus' ... s-say it," Padme erupted. She nearly fell forward trying to shove her finger dramatically in Bail's face; un-phased, he grabbed her gently by the shoulders to steady her before she toppled. "Don' touch me!" she yelled. "That's what the ... the p-problem is, how you get in t-trouble, the touchin'."

Breha giggled inappropriately. "And baby makes three!" she chimed in. Then she grabbed her husband by the lapels and chanted it like a mantra: "Baby makes three, baby makes th-"

"Yes, yes, honey. Let's leave Senator Amidala alone for a while," Bail implored, nearly dragging Breha away from Padme, who glowered.

"I'm n-not pregnant, you ... h-HARPY!"

"Baby makes three!" Breha clapped her hands gleefully. Bail cast a glance across the room at Obi-Wan, who seemed suddenly concerned with his chrono. In spite of himself, Bail felt relieved; at least he knew someone else was having as miserable a time as he was.

* * *

Ventress hadn't been lying when she'd said she needed to pee, but she had ulterior motives for extracting herself from the torturously boring conversation. The entire affair had been horribly dull for the most part, though her proximity to Palpatine made this particular task much, much easier.

Her Grand-Master had been able to transmit the location of her Force-suppressor and had been able to use his own considerable power to neutralize the danger it posed during a removal attempt. She'd been informed, in no uncertain terms, that she was to escape tonight, which meant a little bit of home surgery in the public 'fresher.

Entering the expansive 'fresher, Ventress allowed herself to glance at the array of complimentary, travel-sized bottles of lotions and perfumes lining the marble countertop. "Bureaucrats," she muttered, her lip curled in disgust. Still, her eyes slid over several of the labels. Eventually, she plucked a small, light purple container up in her long nails. Facetiously, she noticed it because it matched her dress. With a shrug, Ventress dumped out some of the fragrance in her palm, and then rubbed her hands together, before rubbing them along her tattooed skull. "Lavender, you get on my head," she muttered.

Eventually, the assassin secreted herself in the stall furthest from the door and got to work. Ventress pulled off her dress and slid the scalpel she'd stolen from the Healer's during the last recalibration from where it was snuggled between her garter and her leg. Ventress was no stranger to pain, but she couldn't help letting out a groan of agony as she slid the blade into the flesh of her lower back.

A quick cut and then she shoved her fingers into the wound, groping around for the chip, hoping she'd gone deep enough. Grunting, she positioned herself over the toilet bowl so most of the blood was contained.

She thought she nearly had it when the 'fresher door slammed open and unsteady footfalls hurried across the tiled floor. She decided to ignore it and moaned again as her fingers brushed the chip.

"You too, huh?" a wavering voice said from the other side of the stall door. Ventress bent slightly to see underneath the door and saw a pair of shoes she remembered that Amidala woman wearing. "S'bad seafood or somethin'," she continued as Ventress scrambled to get a good grip on the chip. Through the pounding of blood in her ears, Ventress heard her say, "My stupid husban' ate, like, thirty of 'em, but don't tell anyone he's my..." Then there was a burp and a heave and the unmistakable sound of vomit hitting porcelain.

Ventress used the noise to cover the sound of the final tug of the chip, which gave way with a tearing sound and searing pain. She managed to accomplish it with little more than a hiss and another low moan that was well-masked by Amidala's retching. She flushed the toilet and wet a handful of 'fresher flimsi to mop herself off with, packing the wound with bacta-infused gauze that she'd hidden in her small handbag and covering it with a bacta patch. The feel of the Force again was ... intense. It nearly doubled her over. Briefly, Ventress allowed herself a moment to become accustomed anew to the feel of its energy swirling around her, comforting, like a soft blanket.

Finally, and moving with only a little bit of care, Ventress pushed the stall door open and, stepping around the Senator clinging to a vomit-filled sink, went back to the party. Despite the fact that she wanted nothing more than to curl up and nurse her wound(s - oddly, her breasts had been particularly sensitive as of late, as well; it annoyed her), she knew Obi-Wan would be suspicious if she were away too long. Begrudgingly, she made her way back over to his side, her shields now carefully in place.

Obi-Wan glanced at her with something approximating affection in his eyes. "Asajj," he said simply. Ventress stood stiffly, studying his profile: Kenobi's reddish beard had only just begun to gray; his eyes were kind and soft, as were his lips, Ventress knew. She shifted. He glanced at her again, and then looked away.

A song filtered overheard, something romantic and jaunty that Ventress had heard Anakin play on-loop in the shower for practically her entire captivation at the Temple. "Oh," Obi-Wan said in recognition. He hesitated for a moment when Ventress didn't respond, and then held out his hand: "Would you care to dance, Asajj?"

Ventress stared. "You can't be serious," she deadpanned, but Obi-Wan's stance did not waver. Finally, she relented. "Fine," she sighed. When she didn't grasp his hand right away, Obi-Wan made to slip his arm around her waist; panicked, Ventress gripped his fingers. He winced, but smiled through the pain.

Sensing her apprehension, Obi-Wan placed his hands respectively on the assassin's bare shoulder and waist. They began moving in a circle to the song, amassed in a cluster of other couples who had found it similarly danceable. Ventress glanced around for the first minute or so, and then resting her gaze squarely on Obi-Wan, who smiled. Ventress smiled back.

"I've had a very nice time tonight," Obi-Wan intoned, his voice huskier than usual. He murmured appreciatively as his dancing partner's slight body swept a miniscule distance closer to his. "You're quite lovely, you know," he continued.

Ventress' mouth quirked. "I suppose you could be worse," she offered. She was becoming accustomed anew to the Force in quicker and quicker bursts, now; Obi-Wan provided a tether, something solid to attach herself to. Privately, she welcomed that, though judging by the expression on his face, he was mistaking it for submission; friendship, even.

And then, suddenly, it happened. Softly calloused fingers brushed her cheek and chin, and then Obi-Wan leaned in to kiss her. "Asajj," he murmured lovingly. "Asajj ...". The music swirled around them in a dizzying crescendo; the energy in the room seemed to have peaked.

Ventress paused, took a deep breath, and kicked Obi-Wan Kenobi square in the groin.

"Ach!" Obi-Wan gasped, dropping to his knees as the wind was knocked out of him. He stared up at the assassin in shock. "I-" he began, "I ... wha-"

"Suck it, Kenobi," Ventress snarled, and high-tailed it across the room faster than non-Force sensitive persons would have been capable of. Still choking and clutching his nether regions, Obi-Wan watched with dismay as the would-be Sith picked up a chair and heaved it towards the tall sun windows, now blackened with the Coruscant night sky. Screams rang out as one of them shattered; before anyone could stop her, Asajj Ventress jumped through the newly-created hole, plummeting into planet's bustling airspace.

There was a long, drawn-out silence: all of the partygoers seemed to be staring at Obi-Wan, who was struggling, unsuccessfully, to release his pain into the Force. The silence was broken by a short burst of laughter from Padme, who had emerged from the 'fresher just in time to see Obi-Wan hit the floor. "Shh," Bail hissed, gripping her arm as the room exploded into motion. Senate guards rushed in, securing the perimeter and ensuring Palpatine was out of harm's way. Nobody thought to ask Obi-Wan if he was alright.

"Anakin!" Obi-Wan shouted hoarsely over the rising commotion. "Anakin! She's getting away!"

Anakin sauntered over, a dopey grin on his face. "Yup," he replied, kneeling down unsteadily beside Obi-Wan. "Went right out th' window." He flung his arm in the direction of the window, as if he'd made it his sole purpose for the evening to be as unhelpful as possible. Which, knowing Anakin, he probably had. By this time Ahsoka had joined them and Anakin tugged one of her head-tails. "In't that right, Snippers?"

"Aren't you going to go after her?" Obi-Wan demanded, still wheezing and curled into a ball on the floor.

Anakin and Ahsoka looked at each other dubiously. "No," they said in unison.

"WHY?" Obi-Wan shifted uncomfortably, wondering what he could have possibly done to offend the Force so badly.

Anakin cleared his throat. "I'm kind of stoned right now," he admitted by way of explanation. "So instead, instead of going after her, we could, you know, just go home."

Obi-Wan stared at his former apprentice for a long moment. Anakin stared back. "Will of the Force," Ahsoka chimed in, "nothing we could do about it."

Finally, Obi-Wan nodded and held out a hand. "Help me up," he ordered, "and let's go home."

Obediently (for once), Anakin swung an arm around his Master to support the bulk of his weight. Anakin nodded at Ahsoka: "I've got this, Snips," he told her, and she shrugged. The duo made their way slowly out an ornate set of double doors; on the way, they passed Padme, who had succeeded in laughing herself into a fit of tears. "Lessgo home," Anakin slurred, pressing a sloppy kiss to Obi-Wan's beard. "Let's ... let's have s-sex."

Blearily, Obi-Wan shook his head. "Let's not," he responded. He didn't remember much after that; at some point, he polished off the last of the mini bottles Anakin had swiped from Force-knew-where, and vaguely recalled sinking into a drunken lump in, surprisingly, his own bed. He assumed that Anakin at least tried to have intercourse with him, judging from the fact that his pants had been removed and Anakin was still inside of him, sticky and smelly the next morning.

Extracting himself from his former apprentice's genital hug, Obi-Wan rolled onto his back and stared up at the ceiling. Business as usual, he thought dryly. Beside him, Anakin snuffled and then burped in his face.

* * *

It was no surprise that they were summoned to the Council chambers early that morning. Obi-Wan just barely managed to brush his teeth, jostle Anakin into consciousness, and retrieve Ahsoka before they were, once again, late. Once in the chamber, Obi-Wan found he was feeling somewhat lost without Ventress there to goad everyone into a reaction, without her and Anakin bickering the entire way to and from the meeting, without her snide comments. Instead, it was just a nauseous-looking Anakin, an exhausted Ahsoka, and a very pissed-off Mace Windu.

"You lost Ventress," Windu informed them the moment they entered. "Please explain how you *lost* your prisoner." He looked fairly enraged, if Obi-Wan was any kind of judge of such things. Truth be told, Obi-Wan wasn't sure he *could* explain. Not in any way that anyone in the room would understand, anyway. He'd been distracted, had let his guard down, had allowed Ventress to slip past his shields and burrow into him like the poisonous slugs she'd used on him on Rattatak. How morbid, he thought, returning his musings to the matter at hand.

"We are deeply sorry, Masters," Obi-Wan said, bowing his head. "I fear we became too complacent. She appeared to have been softening under our care, and I regret that I may have overlooked the threat she still posed." He paused and took a breath. "I also assumed that her Force suppressor would not have been disabled."

"We're assuming she had outside help," Windu informed them, steepling his fingers and leaning back in the chair. "What I want to know is how she got away. You," he gestured at Obi-Wan, "have the valid excuse of having just been junk-punched, but I want to know where Skywalker was."

Anakin frowned slightly. "Well, see, the thing is, I was..." He shrugged. "Ahsoka was there too."

The Togruta's jaw dropped. "Why you ... son of a whore!" Ahsoka yelled. She gave a battle cry and then ran forward, colliding with her Master, fists flying.

"Ow, OW! That's enough, Snips ... that's OW, that's enough!" Anakin squirmed, vaguely impressed by the tenacity of his Padawan, and then simply in pain. "Oh, kriff, she's biting me! Somebody h-help! Get her off! GET HER OFF! Master!"

Obi-Wan crossed his arms in satisfaction. Behind him, the rest of the Council beamed. "You know, Anakin, I don't think I will," he said happily. "I think you're doing just fine on your own."

* * *

"This place isn't as nice as your old place," Granta informed Zan Arbor some weeks later. Having heard through his contacts that a hit had been put out on his sometimes-employer, he had decided, in the interest of being paid, to give her a heads-up. She'd closed up her lab and set up shop in the Outer Rim, somewhere Granta hated and thus was glad he wasn't being required to accompany her. He'd merely come to collect his payment and refuel his ship.

"Yes, well, it was the best I could do on such short notice," Zan Arbor replied dismissively, handing him a credit chip with the remainder of his fee. "Being on the run from the Separatists is not exactly a glamorous life." She shrugged. "But I have my resources, and with the information I was able to extract from the blood samples..." She gave Granta a sickly smile. "With any luck I'll have a new weapon synthesized within the month."

"Well, good luck with that," Granta said, grimacing. He really didn't want to spend any more time with Zan Arbor than he had to; he was only hoping this was the last time she'd call on him, especially for something so menial. "And good luck keeping your face from breaking next time you get work done," he added.

"Get out," Zan Arbor said, pointing to the door. She didn't have to tell him twice.

* * *

Dooku cut his connection with Sidious. He turned and scowled at Ventress. Ventress scowled back. Dooku's eyes traveled to her stomach; instinctively, Ventress covered it protectively with her hand.

"How in the blazes did you not know you were pregnant for nearly six months?" Dooku's voice was calm, but his eyes, which flashed furiously as he spoke, belied how he really felt.

Ventress' face was pinched. "I was ... preoccupied," she said simply, patting her stomach. Inwardly, she cursed Obi-Wan for knocking her up. It was bad enough that she had to recoup all the time she'd lost to move her Grand-Master's plan along. Now, there were a slew of new questions to consider.

"Our Master suggested termination." Dooku's tone was measured, but Ventress tensed nonetheless. She normally could care less about other life forms, but felt strangely protective about this one for some reason. She suspected it was her cursed hormones. She also blamed them for the fact that she felt herself inching towards tears, and her sudden craving for sliders.

Sensing her discomfort, Dooku smirked. "Fortunately for it, Lord Sidious sees its potential for the Dark Side. It shall be raised in our service. I suggested dropping it off at the Jedi Temple, but our Master did not agree."

Ventress sighed, relieved in spite of herself. "'It' is a 'she'," she informed Dooku. "And her name is Juno Eclipse."

Dooku's long face was vaguely disgusted. "I see," he coughed. He gestured at the assassin's stomach, exposed beneath the strips of gauze wrapped around her torso, courtesy of Separatist med 'droids. "Cover that up," he ordered, and stomped off.

Ventress patted her mid-section. "How hasn't this happened to Skywalker ten times over?" she wondered aloud. Then she decided to blame it all on Anakin. She was pretty sure everybody else was.

* * *

Almost immediately after the Council had deemed their only punishment to be to "just clean up the kriffing mess in your apartment", Obi-Wan had hopped a transport to Alderaan and had yet to return. In his absence, Anakin had actually made himself useful and done a fairly decent job (with Ahsoka's help) of cleaning up the cesspit that had once been their apartment. It was partially out of a not-misplaced guilt, but mostly out of a desire to sleep in his own bed and to rid the apartment of any and all reminders of the ordeal that had stolen six months of his life, as well as some of his liver function.

He'd even formed a truce with Padme. She had no recollection of the Ball, so it was fairly easy to deny he'd said anything hurtful and had been able to spin a tale involving sex together in the 'fresher, leaving out the part where instead of having sex, she'd thrown up in the sink and he'd passed out for at least fifteen minutes in the corner. She didn't need to know either of those things, not if Anakin wanted to spend any time at all with her before the Council shipped them out again.

He was sprawled out on her couch, poking at his stomach with the tip of one mechanical finger. "I had to requisition new pants," he complained. "None of mine fit anymore, and it's all Ventress' fault." If it hadn't been for Ventress, he wouldn't have been cooped up for six months, after all.

"Oh, yes, I'm sure she force-fed you and poured beer down your throat the entire time she was here," Padme replied, rolling her eyes. Nevertheless, she went over to the sofa and sat so she was draped over his long frame. "It's okay, you're not a complete Hutt," she said with a smile, patting his stomach.

They lapsed into a comfortable silence, enveloped in one another's arms, until a knock at the door broke them from their respective trances. Padme moved off of Anakin, who reluctantly stood and crossed the room to the door. Upon pulling it open, he was greeted by Ahsoka's small fist making direct contact with his crotch. As he fell to the floor, he saw Dorme standing behind his apprentice, and Padme simply standing to the side of the door watching, a bored expression on her face. "Why?" he choked out.

"You know why!" Ahsoka exclaimed and took off running down the hall.

* * *

"Fan harder, Matt," Carrie Fisher ordered, snapping her fingers. "And stand up straight. You have horrible posture."

"Sorry, ma'am," Matt Lanter said subserviently. He increased the up and down movement of the palm fronds he was holding in each hand. The suntan oil he had rubbed onto himself made the endeavor slightly slippery, but it couldn't be helped. Skywalker Ranch was sweltering this time of year, as evidenced by the fact that everyone walked around in various states of barely-dress. Matt himself wore a simple Speedo and the obedient smile he flashed at Carrie Fisher when she patted him on the butt.

"It's really hot out here," Hayden Christensen said on cue. His voice was muffled by the Chewbacca costume he wore. "Can Matt and I trade places yet?" he sighed, squirming as the heels of Carrie's white Crocs dug into his back as he crouched in front of her lawn chair. "It's my turn to fan."

"No, Hayden," Carrie yawned, flicking her cigarette onto his head, the only part of him not covered in wookiee fur.

"Why not?" he whined.

"Because I'm prettier," Matt boasted proudly.

"Because Matt's prettier," Carrie agreed. The conversation was interrupted by the presence of Dave Filoni, dressed in board shorts, his trademark Indiana Jones hat that he'd stolen from George Lucas' office and refused to wash, and a Plo Koon iron-on t-shirt that he had made himself. "What did you think of my idea for season three?" Carrie asked as he handed her one of the mojitos he was holding, and took a sip of the other.

"Ah," Dave smacked his lips. "It's ... interesting. Very gay. We have eight-year-olds watching this thing, Carrie."

Carrie raised an eyebrow. "There are gay eight-year-olds out there, Dave."

"'Gay'-ght-year-olds," Hayden murmured. Carrie kicked him. "Ow."

Dave shrugged. "In any case, I ran it by George. He's decided to take it in another direction."

"What does that mean?" Carrie asked suspiciously.

"Jar-Jar," Dave answered simply. "An arc starring Jar-Jar. That's what it means."

Carrie dumped the rest of her mojito on Hayden's head. "Kriff," she muttered. "I hate that Gungan."


End file.
